Not Destroyed
by Enthusiastic Fish
Summary: Sequel to Schism. A case suddenly thrusts Tim back into the world of NCIS after a year away. The fallout is not what any of them expect. Now complete. There is a third part to this series called Another Leap in the Dark.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** This is the promised sequel to _Schism_. It is still Tim-centered, but there is a lot more of the team in this one because of the nature of the story. If you hated _Schism_ but are, for some odd reason, reading this, I hope you enjoy it more than you did _Schism_. I may be outing myself as a Journey fan by using a song of theirs for my title, but I have to say that "Trial by Fire" is a beautiful song and I highly recommend you listen to it. If you find Journey to be a band not worth enjoying, I won't tell anyone if you listen to and like the song (you can find it on YouTube). :)

I hope you're ready for a bumpy ride. There are going to be twists and turns galore in this story. Buckle your seatbelts and hang on!

**Disclaimer:** Not mine! Not mine! All I claim are the original characters. NCIS and its characters belong to DPB and I'm poor; so I'm not making money off this. Pity.

* * *

**Not Destroyed  
**_Schism sequel  
_by Enthusiastic Fish

_Treasures in the jars of clay  
__Let the light shine out of darkness  
__Fallen down but not destroyed  
__It's just another trial by fire  
_"Trial by Fire" by Journey

**Chapter 1**

_Six months after the end of Schism_...

Ducky was forced to park almost a block away from Tim's apartment. There were too many police cars, plus an ambulance and crowds of people hovering around. His heart in his throat, Ducky hurried over to the edge of what was obviously a crime scene and gestured to an officer.

"Yes?"

"Excuse me, officer. My name is Donald Mallard. I'm a friend of Timothy McGee and I was called about...a robbery?"

The officer nodded and lifted the tape to allow Ducky to come through. He gestured.

"He's over there at the ambulance. Tell him to let us do our jobs next time."

Ducky nodded. "Thank you."

"He's all right, Mr. Mallard. The bump on his head might just knock some sense into him."

"I doubt that, but I thank you." He hurried over to the ambulance and couldn't stifle his sigh of relief when he caught sight of Tim sitting upright, getting a gash tended to on his arm. There was already a butterfly bandage on his head. Jethro was sitting beside him on the ground, looking uninjured.

"Hey, Ducky," he said, smiling slightly.

"Timothy..."

"Hey, it wasn't my fault! The guy was already in my apartment when I got back from walking Jethro. It's _his_ fault that he chose my place to try and rob. He won't be doing _that_ again...not until he gets out of prison again, at any rate."

"Did you have to take him on by yourself?"

"Well, I didn't exactly have..." Tim suddenly faltered and stopped talking.

Ducky knew the word he didn't want to say. Even now, a year after the end of the fateful undercover mission, Tim had serious trouble with what had happened with his team.

"What happened?"

"I opened the door, and the guy was trying to...find something worth stealing, I guess." Tim shrugged. "There wasn't much and he had just found my safe. Jethro warned me that he was there and...we fought him off, subdued him and made a citizen's arrest. Since I caught him in the act, I could do that and we called the police as soon as we could."

"We?"

"I got my neighbor to make the actual call." Tim looked at his arm and then at Ducky. "I'm fine. Really."

"Well, I don't think you'll be staying here tonight."

"No, that's not likely. ...not with all the break-ins that have been happening in the last month. They'll probably want to see if they can get him for the others as well."

"The others?"

Tim looked a little guilty. "Yeah. This is the fourth home invasion in this neighborhood this month."

"Well, you're all patched up, Mr. McGee," the EMT interjected. "Try to stay away from sharp objects, okay?"

Tim smiled and nodded. "I'll do my best. Can I stay with you tonight, Ducky?"

"Of course, lad."

"Great. Just let me see if they'll let me grab some things from my apartment." He stood up and walked over to one of the officers.

"Is he all right?" Ducky asked the EMT.

She nodded. "Yeah. He'll be fine. The guy wasn't much of a threat, physically, not drunk as he was. If he had been sober...or high, I think your friend might have had a worse fight on his hands. As it is...it looks like he'll have another scar to go along with the other ones on his arm. What are they from?"

"An exploding shower."

"What?"

"It is a long story."

"I guess." She looked over and watched Tim get escorted back inside his building. "Can I ask you something?"

"Certainly."

"You two...you don't seem to fit into this area."

"I don't live here. I live in Georgetown."

Her eyes widened. "Yeah...you look like you could fit there. Actually, so does he. Why is he living in this neighborhood? It's not safe. People don't live here unless they can't afford anything better."

"...or their pride keeps them from accepting help from others."

"Ah. I see. I was talking with him and he just doesn't seem the type."

"Until a few months ago, he wasn't."

"Gotcha. Well, looks like he got what he needed. Good luck to you guys."

"Good luck?"

"I have a feeling you need it."

Ducky smiled. "Indeed we do."

"Hey, Ducky, they let me pack a bag...and grab some of Jethro's stuff. So we can go whenever you're ready."

"I'm ready. Shall we depart?"

"Sure. Come on, Jethro!" Tim called.

Jethro leapt up and trotted with them down the street to Ducky's car. Tim smiled at Ducky. It was a knowing smile. It said that he knew what was coming. Ducky waited until they'd reached his home. ...but when Jethro was settled and Tim's bag was deposited safely in Ducky's spare room, the conversation began.

"Timothy, why didn't you tell me?"

It was to his credit that Tim didn't bother trying to pretend that he didn't understand what Ducky was talking about.

"Because I knew you'd worry and you'd try to get me to accept living with you or with Matt and Judith. ...and I'd have to say no. Why bring it up?"

"I knew that you were struggling somewhat financially, but I didn't realize it was so bad."

Tim smiled, but there was more than a hint of bitterness. "Ducky, I haven't had a regular job since I quit NCIS. No one wants to hire someone who's nuts. Sure, they can't officially discriminate based on previous illness, but once they know...it doesn't matter what my credentials are. They're not interested...and with that glaring six-month gap after I quit...I can't hide it. Matt gives me work when he can, but he can't always. The temp jobs I've managed to get don't last forever."

"Timothy..."

"Ducky...don't start. Please?" Tim sighed and showed the first signs of dejection that Ducky had seen in him. "It's bad enough that I've had to cut so much out of my life. I know that this isn't ideal, but I need to be doing this on my own. I dug this hole for myself and now I have to lie in it, and I'm not going to live dependent on others. ...at least not more than I have to."

Ducky smiled at the qualification. Tim was still depending on others for help with his COBRA payments. Gibbs among them.

"Eventually...I might have to accept that there's nothing for me here anymore. I just don't want to do that. I have friends here. I've lived here longer than I've lived anywhere else except Ohio...and even at that, it's a close second. This is home to me...but I might have to give it up and move somewhere else to find a job...a real job. So far, though, I haven't felt right about leaving."

"Maybe because there things left undone? Words left unsaid?"

"Don't go there, Ducky. There's nothing left for me to say to them."

_Them_. Another sign of Tim's continued anguish about his former team. He hadn't spoken any of their names, not once since he had gone to the psychiatric hospital.

"Anyway...I have an interview tomorrow. Matt recommended me...but I don't think I'll get it. It's a software company that's been hired to do some classified work for Quantico. I'm sure that once they know about my mental breakdown, they'll reject me."

"Then, why are you bothering with it?"

Tim smiled. "I'm a hopeless optimist, I guess." He looked away.

"Timothy, are you all right?"

Tim sighed and shook his head. "I just don't know what to do with my life yet, Ducky. I keep trying to find something, but everything is getting shot down...before I even have a chance. I'm glad that I have the option of figuring it out...but no one is obligated to agree with what I decide. It's just not something I had counted on."

"You have time, Timothy."

"Yeah...I have lots of time. ...and nothing to fill it." Tim took a breath and looked back. "I'll be back to sunshine and roses in the morning, Ducky. I think I'll go to bed. I don't want to be late to my interview!" He managed a smile and stood up.

"I'm always here if you need to talk, lad."

Tim headed out of the kitchen, but he stopped and looked back.

"And I'll always be grateful for that, Ducky. I wouldn't be here at all without your help. Good night."

"Good night."

Ducky watched Tim leave and sighed. Life couldn't be easy, but he wished that it would ease off just a little for Tim. He needed a break.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

_The next morning..._

"Well, Mr. McGee, you have an excellent resume and I'm impressed with your performance here today. I just have a couple of questions."

Tim nodded, but his heart sank. He knew what was coming. Hal Johnson looked at his resume and was obviously checking the timelines of his employment.

"I see here that you have a space of about six months following your quitting NCIS in which you weren't working."

"That's right."

"Six months is a long time. Were you looking?"

"No."

"Well?"

Tim sighed. He'd been through this so many times. He didn't think he could tolerate it again.

"Should I just leave now and not bother with explaining myself?"

Hal blinked. "Excuse me?"

"It will probably save you a lot of trouble and maybe a little guilt when you decide not to hire me."

"What makes you think I won't hire you? What exactly went on?"

Tim looked up at the ceiling and then met his interviewer's gaze. "The reason there are six months of nothing is because I was in a psychiatric hospital for most of that time. I had a mental breakdown. Should I go now?"

To Tim's surprise, there was none of the instant curiosity and nervousness that usually marked the revelation. Hal simply looked at him speculatively.

"I'm guessing that this has something to do with why you quit working at NCIS?"

"Yes."

"And you think that this is enough to keep me from hiring you?"

"Isn't it?"

Hal's smile was sympathetic. "I take it this is something you've faced before?"

"More times that I can count."

"Their loss. Mr. McGee, I received your resume on recommendation from a man I highly respect."

"My friend, Matt."

"Yes. And I have seen nothing in your interview, on your resume, in your performance, to indicate that the recommendation is misplaced or based merely on friendship."

"Are you saying that you're hiring me?"

"Well, not yet. I have three other interviews today, and it may fall out that someone else would be more suitable. However, you have military experience."

"I was an NCIS agent, not a sailor."

"Granted, but you had extensive interactions with the military."

"Yes."

"We need that here. We need someone who understands how the military works, how they think. I can't tell you what the project is, but it has to be structured for military minds, not computer nerds' minds."

Tim laughed, but part of it was out of disbelief.

"Now, before you get your hopes up, this _is_ only a temporary position."

"I'm aware of that."

"If you do get hired, you'll receive full benefits and salary for the entire term of your employ. It will be as if you are a regular employee. However, once this project is over, I won't have the work for you to do."

"I understand."

"All right. We'll have the decision made within the next day or two. I'll make sure someone calls you no matter what. No sense in letting you hang around hopeful if you don't have to. But let me tell you, Mr. McGee, I can see no reason why I wouldn't want to hire you...and I'm not saying that to make you feel better. I can see you thinking that. It's written all over your face."

Tim smiled and hitched his shoulder in acknowledgment. Why deny what was true?

"Well, that's everything, then. Oh, one more question. This is mostly curiosity."

Tim was halfway out of his chair. "Yes?"

"Do you regret quitting your job at NCIS?"

Tim paused as the last seven years of his life flitted through his head.

"I...I regret the circumstances that made it necessary for me to quit. Is that everything?"

"Yes."

Tim nodded, murmured a thank you and left.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Gibbs sighed to himself. This project had taken a number of wrong turns and he'd been forced to restart multiple times, once even screwing up so badly that he'd had to scrap the wood and smooth out new planks. Then, there was the metal. It was definitely giving him fits. He was on the verge of giving up the hand tools and gettings some more modern ones...but no. He couldn't do that.

No matter how long it took, he'd finish the task he'd set himself...within the limits he'd given himself. No matter what.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim got a call from Hal Johnson himself the next morning. He'd been hired.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

_Six months later..._

Teresa stared at the pair of legs sticking out from under her desk with distaste. She didn't want him there, no matter how good he was.

"Teresa, are you seeing anything up there?"

She looked at her monitor.

"It's just flickering. I thought you said you knew how to fix this!"

There was a sigh of exasperation.

"Look, I'm doing this out of the goodness of my heart because you didn't want to wait for the people who are supposed to do this to get here. If you would rather have me stop trying, let me know. I have better things to do than hang out under your desk, breathing in your dust bunnies!"

Teresa grimaced. It was far too true.

"Well?" the legs demanded. "Do you want me to stop?"

"No. Just hurry it up. I have work to do today!"

"I'm working as fast as I can. Could you hand me a flashlight? I think I might see the problem."

"About time," she muttered under her breath but put the small flashlight in the questing hand.

"Morning, Teresa! What's up?" Lorenzo asked as he came into the office.

"Mr. Genius can't handle my monitor," she said grumpily.

Lorenzo laughed. The owner of the legs sticking out from under the desk did not.

"I heard that. Okay. Here it is. Your cord has a short in it. It almost looks like it's been spliced. Go to the supply closet and get me a new one. I'll get you all hooked up while I'm down here."

Teresa rolled her eyes at the commanding tone...and didn't move or respond.

"Look, Teresa, _you _can do this if you want to. Got it?"

"I'll get it," she said and looked at Lorenzo, mouthing _bossy_ at him. He laughed silently.

"Good. I think you should complain to maintenance. There's so much dust back here that I don't think they've touched your area with a vacuum for weeks."

Teresa said nothing to the calm statement. Instead, she headed back to the supply closet, resenting the fact that she was getting sent on the errand, that she wasn't as good as the man under her desk and that she was forced to take orders from him when he wasn't even a real employee.

She thought about shouting back and sarcastically asking what size of cord he needed. ...but she knew what the size was. She may not be fully checked out on computer repair, but she wasn't an idiot by any means.

She pulled open the supply closet door.

...and she screamed.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tony yawned and rested his head on his arms.

"Late night?" Ziva asked.

"Movie marathon on TCM," Tony mumbled. "Couldn't stop staring at the screen."

"Like a train wreck?"

"What?" Tony lifted his head up.

"Is that not what they say about train wrecks? You cannot look away?"

"Oh. Right."

"Well?"

"Sure. Whatever." His head dropped back to his arms.

"Good morning!" Jamie said.

"Why are you so happy?" Tony grumbled.

"I have great news! ...well, great news for me."

Ziva smiled. "What has you so...so giddy at such an early hour?"

Jamie took a deep breath and then let out in a rush. "Nate and I are going to have a baby!"

Tony sat up, wide awake. "What?"

Jamie grinned. "I'm pregnant, Tony!"

"What does that mean?"

"I hope you're not asking for the word's definition."

"No."

Jamie's smile became understanding. "It means that in a few months I'll be gone."

Ziva's smile faded. "Permanently?"

"I don't know yet. Nate and I are still discussing it...but there's a lot of time."

"Only a few months."

"Hey, you guys don't have to act like I'm dying or anything. People have babies all the time. ...well, _women_ have babies all the time."

Tony forced a smile. "Well...congratulations!"

"Practice it a few times, Tony. Maybe tomorrow it'll sound sincere."

Then, the awkwardness was interrupted by a Gibbs fly-by.

"Practice it later. Dead Marine. Grab your gear."

"Marine where?"

"Some software company out in Arlington called Soft-Tech."

"Why was he there?"

"That's what we're supposed to find out, DiNozzo! Let's go!"

Quickly, they grabbed their gear and ran after Gibbs. As the elevator doors closed, Gibbs proved his omniscience.

"Congratulations, Davidson."

Jamie smiled. "Thanks, Gibbs."

The doors closed.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Dr. Mallard! Where have you been?" Jimmy asked in relief when Ducky walked in.

"Mr. Palmer," Ducky said. "Whatever is the matter?"

"Agent Gibbs said they had a body to process and I didn't want to be the one in charge!"

Ducky chuckled. "I suppose that is understandable. Do you think you can get us there?"

"I always do eventually," Jimmy said and then went serious.

"What is it, lad?"

"The place we're going."

"What?"

"A dead Marine at Soft-Tech."

"Oh, dear. ...and they've already left?"

"Yes, Dr. Mallard."

Ducky sighed. This was not an auspicious beginning to the day.

"Oh, dear," he said once more.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Ziva, Tony, photos, bag and tag. Jamie, get our witnesses separated and start talking with them. When Ducky gets here, Tony, you help Jamie."

"On it, Boss."

Gibbs nodded and headed for the tall, lean, bald man standing anxiously at the door to his office.

"Hal Johnson?"

"Yes."

"Agent Gibbs, NCIS."

"Thank goodness. I knew it was the right thing to call you guys first. I must say that I've not ever had even theft take place in this company. Murder...that's...quite a bit different, not what I expected...although Teresa does have a set of lungs. I heard her all the way out in the parking lot." He smiled slightly.

"What can you tell me?"

"He's Lance Corporal Eric Smythe," Hal said with some distaste that even his shock couldn't get rid of.

"You didn't like him?"

"He took his role here beyond what it was supposed to be. He was irritating. ...but before you ask, no, I didn't want him dead. I wanted this project over so that he'd be sent back to Quantico and out of our hair."

"What _was_ his role?"

"Security. We're in the final stages of writing a program for Quantico. It had to be built from nothing and we all had to get clearance even though the data wasn't all that vital to national security. Still, I could see why it was necessary. If he'd been polite about it..."

"But he wasn't?"

"No. He was pushy and demanding...and seemed to forget that _we're_ the computer experts here, not him. Kept trying to muscle his way in. Drove Tim crazy."

Gibbs blinked. It couldn't be. "Tim?"

"Yeah. I hired him just for this project. I'm sure you'll want to talk to him. In fact, he's the one who said we needed to call NCIS...wouldn't let us touch the body. Maybe you know him. He used to work for NCIS. Timothy McGee?"

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim was waiting anxiously in his office. He knew he'd be interviewed. He assumed that he was going to be a suspect. He just hoped that...

"Hi, I'm Special Agent Jamie Davidson. I know this must have been upsetting. I just have a few questions for you to start out if that's all right."

Tim breathed a small sigh of relief. He had been afraid it would be Gibbs and company who were sent to this. He was surprised they weren't, but he was glad of it.

"Sure. I knew you would. I used to work for NCIS. I know how all this works."

"Really? What's your name?"

"Tim McGee."

Her eyes widened and her mouth formed an 'O' shape. ...which worried him somewhat. It had been a year and a half since he quit NCIS. Surely they weren't _still_ talking about him. Not after all this time. Surely they would have forgotten about him, moved on with their lives. He hadn't, but they _must_ have.

"I see you've heard of me."

"It would be hard not to, I'm afraid."

"Why?"

"Hey, Jamie!"

Tim knew that voice, not even a year away from it could erase it from his memory. Involuntarily, he stepped back, away from the voice and ran into the edge of his desk. He flushed and Jamie smiled and leaned out of the office.

"What, Tony?"

"You need any help?" came Tony's disembodied voice.

"Not just yet. I'll let you know. I wouldn't want to keep you from your work."

"Thanks," Tony groused.

Jamie looked at Tim.

"Thanks," Tim said softly. "I guess you _have_ heard of me."

"Yeah. I have."

"Not recently, I hope."

Jamie gave him a strange glance. "I guess not particularly recently. Now, where are your coworkers?"

"Coworkers," Tim repeated, rolling his eyes. "That's using the term very loosely. They're all in different offices. Particularly, Teresa, Lorenzo and myself. We were the ones who were definitely in the building. I got here first, at about six-thirty. Teresa came a bit later, maybe eight. Lorenzo got here just before Teresa went back and discovered Lance Corporal Smythe at eight forty-five."

"What were you all doing?"

"I was under Teresa's desk, trying to fix her monitor. It had stopped working and she was too impatient to wait for the maintenance crew to get here. I knew how to do it and so I volunteered...not that she was at all grateful for my help. They never are here."

"Not a pleasant working environment?"

"Not really."

"Then, why do you stay?"

"I won't be for much longer. I'm only a temp here," Tim said, trying not to show any of his embarrassment. "They'll be glad to see me go and I'll be glad to go."

"Why the mutual animosity?"

"Because they have deluded themselves into thinking that I'm after their jobs, even though Hal was clear about my presence only being temporary. They're insecure and so they don't like me. It happens."

"And Lorenzo?"

"Oh, right. Lorenzo came and he and Teresa traded a few quips about me and then I figured out what was wrong with monitor and sent Teresa back to the supply closet to get a new cord. She did...and then she screamed. I hit my head on the top of the desk," Tim finished, pointing to the small lump on his forehead.

"Okay. So...where are the others?"

"You'll find them just around the corner, down the hall and to the right...but I'm fairly certain that you'll be focusing on me as the prime suspect soon enough."

Jamie had been about to leave and she stopped, startled.

"Why?"

"Means, motive and opportunity. I have them all."

"Hey, Jamie, Ducky got here really fast and..." Tony came around the corner and into the office... and Tim knew there was nowhere to hide.

Tony was shocked. He couldn't even pretend to be anything else. For his part, Tim just stood there in silence as Tony stared in surprise. There was an awkward pause.

"Tony..." Jamie began and then tried to smile. "I guess you know Tim?"

"McGee...what are you doing here?"

"I work here," Tim said. "Hi."

"Hi."

"I was just about to go and interview the other two who were in the building, Tony," Jamie said. "Tony?"

"Yeah...right, okay. I was just going to say that I wasn't quite done with the photos, even though you might hear Ducky's dulcet tones." As he spoke, Tony slowly got back his usual expression and hid any of his shock. "So...you work here?"

"Yeah. I do," Tim said, keeping any emotion out of his voice, determined to be civil but nothing more.

"For how long?"

"About six months." He decided not to mention the fact that he was only a temp to Tony. He didn't need to know that...not right now...and not from him.

"Wow."

"It was nice to meet you, Tim," Jamie said.

"Yeah," Tim said. "Likewise. You must be at my desk now."

"Yep."

Another awkward pause.

"Tim, could you come to my office, please?"

Tim sighed in relief at the escape. "Coming, Hal! Sorry. Duty calls." He walked quickly out of the little office and down the hall to the main office...only to stop in dismay at who was sitting across from Hal's desk...although he should have guessed.

"Tim, great. This is Agent Gibbs from NCIS. Do you know him?"

"Yeah. I do. He's investigating?" Tim asked, focusing his attention on his current boss rather than his former boss.

"Yes, and I'd like to ask a favor of you. I know that everyone will have to be investigated, but I need someone who knows all the ins and outs of the company as well as NCIS to function as a liaison while this is going on. Would you mind acting in that capacity?"

Tim's mouth opened to beg Hal to pick anyone else, no matter what they would say about him, to plead with him not to be forced to work with NCIS, not to have to see all these people again, not to be forced to remember the life he'd given up. ...but that wasn't what came out.

"Sure, Hal. If that's all right with NCIS."

"Works for me, McGee," Gibbs said, in a voice that might even be a bit amused and Tim felt his back stiffen as he straightened.

"What do you want me to do?"

"I've been explaining to Agent Gibbs what we do here and what we've been doing for the Marine Corps...but I think I might have been a bit too technical. You think you could do a better job?"

"Probably not," Tim said, thinking of all the times Gibbs had cut him off mid-sentence...and then quickly quashing those same memories. "...but I can try, Hal."

"Excellent. Do you have anymore questions for me, Agent Gibbs?"

"Who's your contact at Quantico?"

"I'm afraid that was Lance Corporal Smythe. Was there anyone else, Tim?"

"Lance Corporal Smythe was assigned by and reported to, uh... Lieutenant Colonel Bass, I believe, Hal...but Lance Corporal Smythe was the only one who ever checked up on us...at least to my knowledge."

"Right. Thanks. You see, Agent Gibbs, this project has really become a lot of Tim's work. I wouldn't be able to handle everything here without him."

"I can see that."

Tim gritted his teeth. Why did Gibbs have to make everything sound like a joke? ...and why, in the name of all that was holy, did he still make Tim feel angry? It had been way too long for this kind of emotion to have lasted.

_You've moved past all that, Tim. Get over it!_

"Tim?"

Tim blinked at Hal.

"Sorry. What?"

"I just said that you can feel free to use my office for this stuff, and anything that goes beyond the regular working hours you can log as overtime. I know you need it and it will be worth it to have someone who knows what he's doing on my side."

Tim winced but smiled at Hal's curious glance.

"Is there anything you want from me right now?" Tim asked, finally speaking directly to Gibbs.

"Not at the moment. If you could come to NCIS once we've finished up here, that would be helpful. I'd like to get the details of the work you're doing for Quantico."

_No! Don't make me go back there!_

"Okay." Tim looked at Hal. "If you'd excuse me for a minute, Hal," Tim said and walked out before either of them could say anything else. He hurried to the bathroom, locked himself in a stall and began shaking.

Why did they have to show up now?


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

After a few minutes, Tim felt as though he was in better control of himself. He told himself that it was to be expected that he'd be a bit surprised by sudden appearance of his former teammates. Anyone would be surprised by that.

"Yeah, everyone freaks out at the sight of someone they used to work with," he muttered to himself. "You're as nuts as everyone thinks you are, Tim."

He came out of the stall and stared at himself in the mirror. He looked frightened, even to himself.

"This is ridiculous. Stop it, Tim."

He turned on the faucet and wet his hands. Then, he rubbed his hands over his face.

"Okay. There's no reason to be bothered. Just go out there and be normal. Right? Right."

Tim took a deep breath and walked out of the men's room.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Ziva was hard-pressed to focus on her task. She had heard Tim's voice when he answered the summons. She had looked at Ducky and Jimmy...and was shocked to find that neither of them acted surprised.

"You knew he was here," she said.

"Yes."

She didn't ask why they hadn't said anything. She knew why.

"Mr. Palmer, I do believe that we can take this young man home now. If you would be so good as to help us, Ziva?"

Ziva was staring back toward the voice.

"Ziva?" Ducky asked.

"Oh...I am sorry, Ducky," she said and turned back. "I did not expect to hear McGee...here."

"You never asked where he was working," Ducky said, answering her unasked question.

"No...I suppose we did not. Does Abby know?"

"I believe so."

Ziva nodded and then silently helped Jimmy and Ducky.

"Ducky, I thought I...heard...your voice."

Ziva turned around quickly as Tim's voice trailed off to nothing.

"Yes, you did, Timothy. I am sorry that we were called your place of employ. It is unfortunate."

"Yeah," Tim said and looked distinctly uncomfortable as Ziva looked him up and down.

For her part, Ziva was dismayed at Tim's appearance. He looked less brittle than when they had last been in the same room. He also was missing that overt hatred that had become the norm before. Still, he was too thin. His clothes were shabby, not overly so, but it was obvious that he was wearing them until he couldn't anymore. His haircut was a bit shorter than it had been, but it was shaggy as if he was waiting as long as possible to get it cut again.

...but more than all of that, Ziva was sad to see that Tim just did _not_ look happy. He wasn't happy to see her, obviously, but there was more to the sadness in his eyes than her betrayal. Tim wasn't happy, and it pained her to think that this was his normal state.

"Hi," he said. "You're going to be investigating me, I guess."

"Why do you say that, Timothy?" Ducky asked.

"It will all come out soon enough. I'm sure that Teresa and Lorenzo are telling all the juicy secrets even as we speak."

Tim was tense, Ziva could see that. Could it really be due to her presence? She hadn't done anything. She'd barely spoken. She certainly hadn't made any threatening moves.

"Juicy secrets?" she asked, trying to sound normal.

Tim's eyes slid reluctantly from Ducky to her and then quickly moved away.

"Yeah. They're explaining that I'm crazy, that I'm unfriendly, secretive. They never liked me. I'm not to be trusted. You never know what I'd do. And on and on." He smiled fakely. "They've said those things to _me _often enough. I hardly think they'll hold back with others. ...but I should probably stay out of the way since I'm not part of the investigation."

"Oh, we're quite finished here, Timothy," Ducky said, his smile was understanding. "You are not in the way."

"Actually, could you tell me who had access to this closet, McGee?" Ziva asked quickly.

Tim nodded, but his desire to get away was very clear. However, he walked to the closet door as Ducky and Jimmy rolled the body out to the truck.

"There's no lock on the door. Usually only the maintenance staff went in there. Charlie and Brian will be in soon. They keep it stocked. It's supplies for the computers, for cleaning, for pretty much everything that can be kept in the same room. Nothing sensitive is kept in here."

"Did Lance Corporal Smythe make a habit of coming in here?" Ziva asked.

Tim grimaced. "Where _didn't_ he make a habit of going? Every day, he patrolled the entire building, just to make sure that there weren't any intruders. He was irritating, acting like what we were doing here was a top secret mission. He prowled."

Ziva laughed and then blinked in surprise when Tim looked at her warily and backed away. It wasn't obvious or quick, but he was moving away from her.

"If that's everything, I'll get out of the way and wait until it's time to go."

"Time to go?"

"Yeah. I'm the new liaison...until you charge me with murder, of course."

"We have no reason to do so, McGee."

Tim smiled, but not happily. "You don't yet. You will."

Then, he walked away, leaving Ziva half-wondering if she had actually been speaking to Tim or to some strange doppelganger.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Okay, so you got here just before Ms. Martinsen discovered the body?" Tony asked.

"Yeah. McGee sent her to the supply closet. He liked ordering us around, like he was some sort of computer god just because he was brought in especially for this project. Guy can't even get a regular job and he treats us like dirt."

Tony swallowed and nodded.

"What happened after A-..._Mr._ McGee sent her to the closet?"

"Nothing. McGee was under her desk, 'working'," he made air quotes, "and he didn't try to talk to me. Thank goodness. Honestly, he kind of gives me the creeps. He doesn't talk, keeps to himself...and..." Lorenzo paused as if reticent to relate damning evidence. "...and he was in a nuthouse awhile back."

"He told you that?"

"No. I heard it. Everyone knows. He's shifty, you know? Always on edge. It's like he expects us to _do_ something to him."

"Did you?" Tony asked, trying to keep his irritation in check.

"Of course not! We're not in high school. We don't like him and we can't wait for this project to be over so he's gone, but none of us ever touched him. What? Is he saying that we did?"

"No. I'm just trying to get a sense of the way things work here."

"They worked fine _before_ McGee was here. They'll work fine _after_ he leaves. Smythe was stupid and annoying, but if someone was going to get killed, I would have thought it'd be McGee."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"He was already here when I got here. He offered to try and fix my computer, pretending to be friendly. He really isn't very nice," Teresa said.

"Offering to help you doesn't seem like a mean thing," Jamie said reasonably. "Especially since it wasn't his job."

"Tim was always acting like he was better than the rest of us. He's so arrogant and full of himself! It's like we're the only ones who make mistakes. He's Mr. Perfect! The only people who can stand him at all are Hal and the guys in maintenance. I don't know what Hal was thinking when he hired him. We didn't need the extra help."

"Oh?"

Teresa was more than happy to keep gossiping. "Yeah, you know, Tim was committed for a while. No one knows what for, but he still sees a shrink every week. Actually, today. He gets off early for it. Maybe Hal had to meet some sort of quota for hiring special needs people or something like that. Still, Tim's only a temp. He won't be here much longer. Thank goodness."

"Could we get back on topic, please, Ms. Martinsen?"

"Oh...sure. So...he forced me to go back to the supply closet like some measly gofer and when I opened the door..." She paled at the memory. "He _fell_ on me! I thought he might have been drunk or something at first, but then I saw the...the bullet hole." She looked nauseous. "I've never had a dead person fall on me before. I screamed and Tim and Lorenzo came running and pulled him off me. Then, Tim wouldn't let any of us touch him, the body, I mean, and he made Brian call for Hal and then called you guys. We had to hang around here...and that's now."

"Thank you, Ms. Martinsen. That will be enough for now, but I'm sure we'll have more questions for you later."

"Okay. Does that mean I can go?"

"Oh, I do have one more question."

"What?"

"Did anyone here hate Lance Corporal Smythe enough to want to kill him?"

"We all didn't like him, but he and Tim really went at it a couple of weeks ago. They were shouting at each other. Hal actually had to come and separate them. Tim called Eric... oh, what was it? It was really weird. I'd never heard it used as an insult before. Oh, yeah! Tim called him a stupid brainless frog who deserves to drown."

"Really?" Jamie asked, startled at the insult, not at the drowning part.

"Yeah. I told you. Tim is really weird...maybe he snapped."

Jamie rolled her eyes. "Thank you, Ms. Martinsen."

"No problem." Teresa smiled helpfully.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim sat in his office, breathing deeply, trying to gear himself up for what was sure to be an onerous task. There was a knock on his door. He jumped and looked back. There was Jimmy. He smiled and gestured.

"Hey, Tim," Jimmy said. "How's it going?"

"I haven't gone crazy yet...at least I don't think I have."

Jimmy smiled. "You haven't, but Dr. Mallard was a bit worried. You seemed really tense."

"Yeah...I am."

"Well, if you have to go back to NCIS, we can make room for you in the truck."

"You sure?"

"Unless you _want_ to go with the others."

"No!" Tim said quickly and then laughed at himself. "I'm pretty obvious, huh?"

"Yeah, but you know? I think it's better that way. After all, when you try to hide things, it rarely goes well...for anyone. At least this way everyone already knows how you feel and maybe they'll be nicer."

"It's never helped before," Tim muttered. "Thanks for the offer, though. I'd much rather go with you and Ducky."

"Okay, Dr. Mallard's already telling Agent Gibbs, I'm guessing. He probably knew you'd say yes."

"He knows everything else."

"Yeah. He's like Gibbs...only less scary."

Tim laughed and felt some of the tension ease. Then, he sobered.

"What is it?" Jimmy asked.

"Jimmy...I...I think that..." He broke off when there was another knock on the partially open door.

"Hey, Tim, sorry to interrupt, but Hal's looking for you."

"Okay. Thanks, Charlie."

"No problem. Shocking stuff, you know? He was a pain in the neck...but still, he was a Marine! You don't kill off the people fighting for us, you know?"

"Yeah, I know." Tim took a breath. "I guess I'm being summoned again. Don't leave without me."

"We won't."

"Jimmy?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks."

"Don't mention it."

Jimmy left and Tim started to stand but then began to shake again, seeing the blood that had run all over Theresa's face...and then the matted blood on the back of Smythe's head from the bullet blowing out the back of his skull.

It reminded him all too well of past events...of his nightmares. He closed his eyes and took a few shaky breaths.

"McGee, you okay?"

Tim jumped and looked up, meeting Tony's concerned gaze. Instantly, he was embarrassed at being caught like that.

"I'm fine. Hal's waiting for me." He stood up and brushed by Tony, walking quickly down the hall, putting as much distance as he could between Tony and himself.

"Tim, hey, come in and sit down," Hal said when Tim reached his office.

"Sure, Hal."

To his surprise, Hal closed the door to the office.

"What is it?" Tim asked.

"I want to apologize."

"For what?"

"This is your team, isn't it."

"Not anymore."

"But they were," he insisted.

"Yeah. They were."

"The people you were working with when you quit."

"Yeah."

"And...they probably have something to do with why you quit, don't they."

"Yeah."

"I'm sorry I asked you to work with them. I can do it."

"No, Hal. It's all right. I don't _want_ to work with them again, but I'm not a little kid, scared of monsters in the closet."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, I'm sure."

Hal smiled and let out a sigh.

"I really appreciate it, Tim."

"Hal, you're the first person who was really willing to give me a chance. I owe you for that at least."

"No. I've gotten a lot more out of you than I've given."

Tim felt a twisting in his gut.

"Are we going to be able to finish the project?"

"I'm afraid not for now. I've already called Quantico and they agree that we should postpone until this gets cleared up...or at least until everyone who works here is off the suspect list."

"I'm not going to be off, Hal."

"What do you mean?"

Tim sighed and spread his hands helplessly. "You know what they're going to say. Everyone knows about my argument with Lance Corporal Smythe. Everyone knows about my being committed. ...and I could have done it, Hal."

Hal got up and walked around the desk. He put his hand on Tim's shoulder and shook him gently.

"No, you couldn't, Tim. Even if you were right there. You couldn't have done it. That's not you. You don't solve your problems with a gun in your hand. Sure, you shouted, but you didn't even take a swing...and Smythe could have used one."

Tim smiled but then felt tears suddenly well up in in his eyes.

"Hal...you don't..."

"Hey, Tim... I don't know everything about you. I don't know why you were committed. I don't know a lot of your history, but I'd like to think that I've gotten to know _you_ in the last few months. You're not a killer, Tim. I don't care what _they_ say. I know better. It wasn't you."

The tears escaped. Hal didn't acknowledge them or draw attention to them in any way. Tim appreciated it, because he was embarrassed. Hal couldn't have any idea how much what he said both hurt and touched him.

"Thanks, Hal," he said when he was certain that he could speak.

"It's not a problem, Tim. ...and if you _do_ get charged with anything, you let me know and I'll get you a lawyer. ...but I don't think you'll have that problem. These people you worked with, they've got to know what kind of a person you are."

"If only they did, Hal. If only they did."

Tim got up and walked out of the office, wiping tears away as he went.

He didn't see Gibbs watching him.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

_Six months ago..._

"Who's this, Hal?" Lorenzo asked.

"This is Tim McGee; he's going to be working on the Quantico project," Hal said. "He's got a lot of experience working with the military and he'll be a great asset while we're making up this program."

Teresa looked at Tim with a distinctly unfriendly eye.

"Why? We're managing fine, Hal. You just gave us the specs for the program yesterday."

"We have other projects to work on, Teresa," Hal said. "Tim will focus his time on the Quantico project and will kind of head it up. The rest of you will keep on as usual dividing up the week into days for each project we have on tap."

"Wait a minute. _He's_ going to head it up?" Paul asked.

"He's got the most military experience, Paul," Hal said firmly. "Now, he'll be in the empty office while he works here... so Brian? Charles?"

"On it, Hal. Tim, you'll be ready to go in an hour, probably less," Charlie said smiling.

Tim smiled hesitantly at him. "Thanks."

"No problem. That's our job!" The two maintenance guys headed off, leaving Tim alone with the unfriendly faces. He looked at them, wondering what he was supposed to do now.

"So," Hal said, "I expect you all to be _welcoming _while Tim works here."

"And how long with _that_ be?"

"As long as it takes to finish the Quantico project, Ronna. Okay, that's it for now. Tim you can settle in and once you get set up, I'll have the official meeting about the project details."

"Okay, Hal."

Hal leaned over just before he left. "Sorry about this, Tim. Don't let them get to you."

Then, Tim was alone with a group of people who looked at him for a few seconds and then turned away, back to their own offices, with a couple of backwards glances that were anything but welcoming.

_This is only temporary. They can't keep this up forever. They'll... ...they'll treat you like dirt as long as you're here. You're only a temp, remember?_

"Hey, Tim!"

Tim jerked his head to the side at the voice.

"Yeah?"

"I'm Brian. You any good at setting up hardware?"

"Oh, yeah. I can do that," Tim said, smiling in relief. "I had to set up an entire network once by myself." Then, something made him add, "I was miserable the entire time."

Brian grinned. "Is anyone happy setting up networks?"

"Probably not." Tim eagerly followed Brian escaping the unfriendly atmosphere.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

_Present..._

A couple of hours later, Tim went out to the truck and got a ride to NCIS with Ducky and Jimmy. It wasn't particularly comfortable in there, but no one complained, least of all Tim who was simply thanking his lucky stars that he could avoid being in a confined space with his former team for a while.

Jimmy drove and Tim sat quietly wedged in between him and Ducky.

Ducky started talking about something unimportant, mostly to allow Tim to stay silent and not have to answer any questions. When they arrived at NCIS, Ducky nodded to Jimmy who smiled and headed off to unload the body.

"Timothy?"

"I don't know if I can do this, Ducky."

"You can, lad. No one here wishes ill for you, no matter how awkward it all may be. If you relax and let the chips fall as they may, you will be much more comfortable."

"Ducky, I wasn't kidding. I'm the prime suspect. They just don't know it yet."

"Why, Timothy? Surely you don't believe that your rather rocky relationship will be a deciding factor. We look at much more than that...as you well know."

Tim looked at Ducky and then looked away. "I threatened to kill him, Ducky."

"What? When?"

"A couple of days ago. I told him that if he ever got in my way again, I'd shoot him right between the eyes." He closed his eyes. "I've been dreaming about it."

"Timothy."

"I was... I was so fed up with everything. If it wasn't for Hal...I would never have stayed there! ...but I need the money." He leaned forward, resting his head on the dashboard. "Someone heard me. I don't know who it was, but I heard the door close...after I shoved him against the wall."

"Timothy," Ducky said, reprovingly.

"I know, Ducky! I...I don't know where it came from! I just...suddenly, I couldn't take it anymore and I was screaming at him." Tim laughed shakily. "I think I actually scared him."

"I can't keep this to myself, you know, Timothy."

"Don't worry, Ducky. I'll tell them exactly what happened. They should know everything about me, everything that I've done."

"Timothy, do you _want_ to be found guilty of this crime?"

Tim didn't answer. Instead, he sat up. "You haven't asked me if I am."

"I don't need to. I know you aren't."

Ducky was surprised by the tears in Tim's eyes.

"I don't know why you're so sure."

"What's wrong, Timothy? What is it?"

"Nothing. It's nothing, Ducky. I'd better go in. I'm sure that..."

"Timothy, wait. Tell me what's wrong. Surely, you trust me by now."

"I do."

"Then, what is it?"

"You say that you know I'm not guilty...but I've committed murder before. I have that inside me still. I'm capable of it. I'm capable of murder, Ducky...and I work with a bunch of people who, no doubt, have already decided that...that I'm the one. _They_ know I'm capable of it. So do you. How can you know that I'm not guilty? _They_ won't know."

"Oh, Timothy," Ducky said and hugged Tim. "You take too much onto yourself, much too easily. You are not a murderer, and we here at NCIS know that."

"No, you don't."

"Yes, we do, Timothy. Even your former teammates know that of you."

"No, they don't."

"Yes, they do. They _do_ know that and you are winding yourself up into a frenzy without cause."

Tim shook his head again but didn't say anything. He sniffed and wiped at his tears.

"Have faith, Timothy. All will turn out well."

"Yeah, just like last time," Tim said and then got out of the truck, leaving Ducky behind.

Ducky stared after Tim's departing figure and hoped that all _would_ be well...and that the MCRT would exercise their normally-astute powers of observation to notice that Tim was facing quite a bit of difficulty at the moment. He had fallen into funks with the loss of each temporary position. They lasted varying amounts of time, but they always came and left Tim shaky at best for a few days. He was so much better than he had been, but a murder, a sudden forced interaction with his team...and returning to the place he had left. Ducky was afraid it might be too much for him.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Well, if it isn't Tim McGee!"

"Hi, Henry," Tim said. "I need a visitor's badge."

"Ah, I thought you might be back."

"Nope."

"All right. What brings you here, then?"

"There was a murder where I work now. A Marine."

"Wow. Coincidence, huh?"

Tim forced himself to smile. "Yeah. Coincidence."

"Hey, McGee! You made it!"

Tim stiffened at Tony's voice but turned and faced him. "Yeah, I did."

Tony's expression faltered and Tim knew that his voice had come out as flat and unfriendly, not simply calm as he had intended. Still, he didn't apologize for it. He took his badge and walked to the elevator.

"Gibbs wanted me to take you to the conference room."

"Okay."

Again, Tim knew he had shut Tony out, but he couldn't seem to find an equilibrium. Tony was trying too hard to act normal. ...and it couldn't _be_ normal; so Tim wished that Tony would act as awkward _he_ felt.

They walked in silence to the conference room. Tim sat down.

"I'll be right back, McGee."

"Sure. Okay."

The door closed and Tim looked around. It was surreal, being in this room, not as an agent but as a civilian witness to a crime.

_Not for long,_ Tim thought to himself.

The door opened and Tim jumped slightly. Gibbs and Ziva came in and sat down across from him. It was so strange being on the other side of the table. He kept wanting to look around...to search for the person they were really interviewing.

"All right, McGee, what can you tell us about this program?"

"I doubt it's why Lance Corporal Smythe was killed," Tim said.

"Why do you say that?" Gibbs asked.

Tim took a deep breath and plunged into an explanation, wondering how long it would take Gibbs to tell him to shut up.

"The system at Quantico is outdated. The one they use for tracking family placements, for salaries and troop locations, not deployments, just locations. It's the same as it's been for years and they're just now realizing how far behind they are and how inefficient the system is. So they did a bid and Soft-Tech won. The information is classified because of privacy issues, not because it contains dangerous data or sensitive military intelligence. It's just that salaries, addresses, troops on base and stuff like that is not for public viewing. So...what I've...what _we've_ been doing for the last six months is constructing an entirely new program. We have the old one for comparison, but they wanted something that had nothing the same as the old one to make sure that there weren't any weak points for hackers and phishers." Tim stopped speaking, suddenly realizing that Gibbs had let him give an entire description without interruption. Obviously, he was nicer to witnesses than he was to employees.

"Anything else?" Ziva asked, looking almost disappointed.

"No. We're almost done. I'd started doing some preliminary data testing last week, to see how it was to upload information, the formatting of the data. I found a lot of bugs in it and so that's what I was working on this week."

"Is that normal?"

"Yes. You never find all the bugs the first time through. There's a line of code you miss, sometimes just a single word. You're coding when you're tired and you forget what you were doing exactly. Then, the next day, you find that you've set up some strange program that makes no sense and you have to go back and fix it. That's why we have multiple people working on it but one person in charge of the system in general."

"And you were in charge?"

Tim his mouth smile, but he knew it was more sardonic than anything. "I tried to be. Didn't really succeed. You're probably not surprised."

"Why would you say that, McGee?" Gibbs asked.

"Any other questions about the program?" Tim asked, avoiding commenting on a statement he hadn't meant to speak aloud.

"Is there anyone at Quantico who was giving you grief about it?"

"You mean _besides _Lance Corporal Smythe?" Tim asked.

"Yes."

"No. We didn't really have a whole lot of interaction with the people over there. A couple of planning meetings. ...uh...one of their guys came over to Soft-Tech once to make sure that everything was proceeding as they wanted it to."

"And was it?"

"Yes!" Tim said, feeling defensive before he realized that he was overreacting. "There were a couple of features he wanted us to add, some search capabilities."

"Who did you communicate with on base?"

"I talked with Lieutenant Colonal Bass on the phone. I mentioned him to you before. The technician who came here was... um..." Tim brain suddenly locked up and he couldn't think. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

"Are you all right, McGee?"

"Yes. I'm fine," Tim said. "He was a second lieutenant. Kim Jin-ho."

"I thought you said that no one from base came to Soft-Tech," Gibbs said mildly.

"I forgot."

"Anyone else you forgot to mention?"

Tim clenched his teeth for a moment but answered. "No. Once the program is completed, we'll set up a demonstration and then there would be a few weeks of training people on the new program...and then a settling in period."

"And then?" Ziva asked.

"Then, Soft-Tech's involvement will be over...and I'll be looking for another job."

"Why?"

"I'm only a temp there. I'm not really an employee. Hal hired me to work on this project."

"All right. Wait here. We'll have a few more questions for you and then you're free to leave."

Tim felt his mouth twist in another insincere smile. "Okay."

Gibbs and Ziva walked out of the room. As soon as they were gone, he let out a long exhalation and dropped his head to the table. It would be a relief when they finally started treating him like a criminal. Anything was better than this.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Ziva, you're with me."

"Where are we going?"

"Quantico. To talk to Lance Corporal Smythe's superiors, verify all the information we have on the program."

"See what people there thought of him."

"Tony, check with Abby. See what she's got so far."

"On it, Boss," Tony said and started to go. Then, he paused, "Boss?"

"What, Tony?"

"Is McGee all right? He seems a bit..."

"He's fine. Get going," Gibbs ordered. "Jamie, you go up there and finish up the interview with McGee."

"Sure, Gibbs." Jamie headed up the stairs.

When she was out of earshot, both Tony and Ziva turned to Gibbs.

"No!" he said before they could speak. "That's it. Just no. We have places to go, David."

"Yes, Gibbs."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Jamie paused outside the conference room door and decided to knock softly to warn Tim that he was going to have company. When she opened the door, he was sitting upright, looking unaccountably tense, but he noticeably relaxed when he saw it was her and not the others...and then Jamie understood why it was that Gibbs was having her finish the interview.

"Hi, Tim. I'm just going to finish up the interview."

"What's left?"

"The other people who work at Soft-Tech, what you know about the inner workings, stuff like that."

"Look, I'll answer all the questions, but I don't think that this program had anything to do with Lance Corporal Smythe getting killed. It's not important enough. ...and people didn't like him, but they liked me a lot less. If they were going to snap and kill someone, it probably would have been me."

Jamie smiled. Tony had reported that Lorenzo had said the same thing.

"Well, let's just jump through all the hoops, okay?"

Tim smiled. "Okay. Fire away."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tony was busy for the rest of the day, coordinating with Ziva and Gibbs on information they were gathering, giving reports on Abby's findings (still being processed: bullet was a 9 mm), the reports from Ducky (cause of death: gunshot to the head), and even reporting to Vance on what was happening. It was getting on toward evening by the time he had a moment to sit and think. ...and when he did that, he decided to go down and check with Ducky again, just to see if there were any surprises.

He got a surprise, but not what he expected. He heard Tim's voice, speaking to Ducky. He hung back.

"No need to be so embarrassed, lad."

"I just didn't expect to be coming here, Ducky. I only brought enough with me for the trip from work and then back to my apartment. I don't have enough money with me to go to Dr. Lewis' office from here."

"It's all right."

"I have enough money. I really do! It's just that..."

"Timothy, it's all right, lad. I don't mind lending you some money for now. You can always ask."

"I don't really need to. I've got everything planned out pretty well and I don't have any temptation to buy things I don't need."

"You're going to be coming here more often while the case is going on, I assume?"

"Probably."

"Then, why don't you let me defray the costs?"

"No, Ducky! I don't need that."

"Timothy, it is all right to ask for help. I know how tight things are for you financially. ...now."

There was a soft laugh. "Even when I first moved to DC, I wasn't having this much trouble. ...but then, I had a real job...and I wasn't going to therapy every week. I'm..."

"What?"

"My health insurance runs out soon...once I'm not employed by Soft-Tech. I can't afford to keep going to Dr. Lewis without insurance. ...and I can't afford private insurance when I don't even have a job. I'm going to have to stop going."

"No, Timothy. You can't stop meeting with Dr. Lewis."

"I don't have a choice."

"Yes, you do. _I_ will pay for your sessions once your eligibility expires."

"Ducky...no..."

"Yes," Ducky said, his voice stern. "I may not be able to force you to accept help living somewhere other than that horrible hole in the wall, but you will _not_ sacrifice your mental health. I will _not_ allow that. Understood?"

"Okay, Ducky."

"Good. You let me know the second you need the money. ...and I _will_ check."

Another laugh. "Okay, okay. I'd better get going. I don't want to be late."

"No, you don't."

Tony realized, suddenly, that Tim would be coming out this way and he looked around...before running back to the elevator and pushing the button. Thankfully, the doors opened and he was able to walk off the elevator into the hall, acting as though he was just arriving when Tim came out. He stared at Tony for a long moment.

"Hi," he said.

"Hey, McGee. Lose your way?" he asked.

"I haven't been gone for that long. I was talking to Ducky."

"What a coincidence, that's what I'm about to do."

"Enjoy." Tim walked by him and got on the elevator without looking back. Tony watched him and then walked into Autopsy.

"Ducky?"

"Hello, Anthony. I'm afraid I don't have anything else to tell you as yet. If there are secrets the late Lance Corporal is keeping, he's being quite mum about it."

"Is McGee okay?"

Ducky looked up from his file and then sighed. "He is well enough."

"Ducky...I heard you guys talking."

"It was a private conversation, Tony."

"I know. I didn't mean to hear it...sort of."

Ducky chuckled a bit. "You will not ask Timothy about his finances. He is humiliated enough asking _me_ for help. Your good intentions would be unbearable for him at this point."

Tony nodded reluctantly.

"So...nothing else on our murder?"

"Not as yet. He may reveal something else eventually."

"All right." Tony started to leave.

"Oh, Anthony?"

"Yeah?"

"If you do wish to help...covertly, you may give it to me. I can pass it along as though it is from me."

Tony smiled. "Thanks, Ducky."

"Remember...not a word to Timothy."

"I won't."

Tony left and found himself wondering just where Tim was living that was so bad that Ducky was calling it a "hole in the wall". ...and when it was that Tim became so poor that he had to ask for help riding the Metro.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

"I'm in trouble, Dr. Lewis. Big trouble...and..."

"And you're shaking, Tim. Have a seat."

All the stress Tim hadn't been able to express during the very long day came out now.

"Okay, calm down first and then tell me what happened."

Tim took a deep breath and tried to regain control of himself. It took a few minutes.

"Feeling better?"

He nodded.

"Okay. Now, what's going on?"

"Eric Smythe is dead. He was murdered."

"What?"

"Sometime this morning. ...and..." Tim stopped.

"What is it?"

"And I threatened to kill him two days ago. I slammed him against the wall outside Soft-Tech and I threatened to kill him. I said I'd shoot him right between the eyes. ...and...and that's how he was killed. Someone shot him. Right between the eyes. And...and I'm going to be accused the murder! I know I am! I have to be. If they follow the investigation at all competently...it has to be me. I was there really early this morning. I have a history of violence. I have a history of mental instability...and ...and it seems like a coincidence that he was shot right where I said I would do it!"

Tim stood up and began to pace back and forth.

"And...and they're investigating. I'm going to have to see them...day after day until they arrest me. They're going to have to be asking me questions. I've spent so much time trying to avoid seeing them...seeing...NCIS, seeing all that. I thought I was free of it. ...but now...now, I'm not. ...and I don't know if I can do it."

The words ran out and Dr. Lewis sat quietly for a few minutes, digesting what Tim had said. Tim was used to the pauses and so that didn't bother him at all. During the silence, he regained some equilibrium and sat down again.

"Tim, I know you're not going to like hearing this, but here it is: You've never been free of them."

"What do you mean?"

"Your former teammates at NCIS. You haven't been free of them. The very fact that you have been so shaken just by seeing them again tells me that you're not free of them. You never were because you have to avoid them, even their names, in order to forget...or at least to pretend to forget. This might be good thing, Tim."

"A _good_ thing?"

"Yes. You'll be forced into close contact with a problem you've been avoiding, even here."

"I don't want to see them," Tim said. "None of them."

"I know, but this is still an unresolved issue for you. ...and you know how I feel about leaving things unresolved."

Tim smiled but then leaned over and dropped his head. "I don't feel in control when I'm around them. I feel like my life is starting to spiral away again."

"It doesn't have to."

"My life is in _their_ hands. Once they know everything."

"Tim, your life belongs to you. No one else has the power to control it. Yes, I know that there are ways of physically-constraining life, but inside...your mind is yours and you don't have to give that up. It doesn't even have to be an issue. They're not going to try to take it from you."

Tim sat up. "What if...What if I become Thomas again?"

"That's a _choice_, Tim. It always has been. You do _not_ have to embrace that aspect of yourself if you don't want to. You need to trust yourself. You're much better at trusting others, but you're so afraid of your own actions that it's holding you back more than it should."

Tim stood up again, but it was not in agitation this time. He walked to the window and looked out over the grounds.

"There are times when I wish I was back in here. It was so much easier, even with all the things I had to face. I was safe here."

"You're safe out there, too."

Tim shook his head. "No. It's not safe out there. I know I can't control people. If I could...I wouldn't have been mugged. I wouldn't have been robbed. I wouldn't have coworkers who dislike me, not because of anything I did but because of the danger I present. I wouldn't be seeing Lance Corporal Smythe's body in my mind over and over again. I can't control people."

"But you wish you could?"

Tim shook his head. "No...I wish I didn't feel like I needed to."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Gibbs wiped the sweat off his face and focused on his task. He was almost done. The metal had been the most difficult part, as he had suspected. He had gone through multiple sheets before he had finally got a feel for how to cut and smooth it without ruining the burnished look. Now, he was finally attaching it to his project. There were long thin strips, larger squares. Each piece required painstaking placement and he was determined to finish it tonight, especially now that Tim had reappeared.

Even if Tim didn't seem to be at all happy to see them, he was both glad and slightly disturbed by it. He had _hoped_ that Tim would have found someplace he could be happy, but it didn't look as though he had. This job, even though it was only temporary, was one he had because he _needed_ it, not because he enjoyed it. He didn't want that for Tim, and knowing that he was to blame for it made it worse.

Carefully, he tapped on the metal strip, lining up the holes, lining it up flush with the edge. When that was done, he picked up the largest piece and set it in place, making sure the size was exactly right. No flaws in this work.

There was a sound of someone walking around upstairs. Gibbs kept working and the door opened.

"Ah, Jethro. I assumed you would be down here. Having a lock on the door but not using it does not actually keep people out."

"You're assuming I _want_ to keep people out," he said. "What brings you here, Ducky?"

"I think it is the same thing that has you up so late working on your latest project. I don't know that this would function very well as a boat," Ducky said as he came down the stairs.

"It's not a boat," Gibbs said, knowing that it was unnecessary.

"It's quite beautiful, Jethro."

"Thanks."

"I'm worried about Timothy."

"Why?"

"Because he is afraid of being in contact with NCIS again, but I think he needs to be."

"We're not going to do anything to him, Ducky," Gibbs said, setting down the mallet. "He obviously wants nothing to do with us and we won't force ourselves on him."

Ducky smiled sadly. "If only it were that simple. If only rebuilding were as easy as this," he said, nodding at Gibbs' project. "But it's not. He's afraid of you."

"Afraid? Why?"

"That I don't know, but I could see it in his eyes. Just being back at NCIS frightens him. Too many memories, perhaps? I don't know. I just know that he's afraid and that...for all your good intentions, it may not be enough."

"Ducky...we've done what we could. McGee was very clear about not wanting us around. We haven't been. We have to see him now, but he's shown no interest in renewing contact outside of the case and I'm willing let it be that way if that's what he wants. What more are you expecting?"

Ducky sighed heavily and sat down on the steps. "I don't know, Jethro. I just know that a young man I have come to care for as much as my own flesh and blood is still shaky. All the gains he has made in the last year could be lost again. I don't like that, but I don't know what to say. I just hope that perhaps you can remember it...show as much care for Timothy as you have for this work of art you have created. It might help."

Gibbs looked back at his project. "This isn't enough, Ducky. This isn't...whatever we do...it's not enough. I don't know how to help him...even if he would accept it from me which he won't."

"Let me ask you something, Jethro."

"What?"

"Do you _want_ to help him? Or is it merely atoning for past errors in judgment?"

Gibbs looked at Ducky and then back at his project.

"I want to help him, Duck."

"Perhaps that will be enough."

"What will?"

"_Wanting_ to help. That's what was missing before."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"We have a problem, Boss," Tony said first thing the next morning.

"What's that, Tony?" Gibbs asked, giving his desktop a passing glance, meeting the accusing eyes before paying attention to Tony.

"Time of death for the Lance Corporal is about 0700."

"And?"

Ziva looked disturbed, but she added, "McGee said he got to the building at 0630. The cameras go out at 0645. He said himself that the supply closet is never locked. The two maintenance workers verified it. The cameras are back on at 0715. Teresa Martinsen arrived at 0755, Lorenzo Flores at 0838."

"Teresa Martinsen said that Tim had a shouting match with Smythe two weeks ago. Others verified it, including Hal Johnson who had to break it up. ...and..."

"And what?" Tony asked, his voice dangerous.

Jamie glared at him. "You know it's an issue, Tony. You can't pretend that you don't know about it, just because it's inconvenient. Deal with it now and we can move on!"

"What are you talking about, Davidson?"

"Timothy McGee was committed to a psychiatric facility to deal with issues related to a mental and physical breakdown. One of the manifestations was irrational anger and even violence. Everyone knows that he punched you out, Tony. I'm not saying I like it, but if we don't at least look into McGee as a possibility, we're going to be seen as playing favorites just because we know who he is."

Ziva also glared. "That was a very specific anger, directed at people who deserved it."

"Maybe Smythe deserved it, too," Jamie said. "It sounds like he was irritating and insufferable. People have killed for less."

"It wasn't McGee," Gibbs said flatly.

"Gibbs, it's not enough for you just to say that. We have eliminate him as a suspect. You all know that. I don't want us getting pulled off because you can't stay objective. It would look bad on my record."

Tony smiled reluctantly.

"Look, guys, I don't think it was him, either...but this is looking bad and we need to nip it in the bud. Now...not when it's forced on us."

"She is right, Gibbs," Ziva said unwillingly. "It is better to get rid of McGee as a suspect now."

"Teresa Martinsen has an alibi. Her husband verifies that she was home. Same with Hal Johnson and his wife," Jamie said.

"The teacher of Lorenzo Flores' kids confirmed that he dropped them off at school at 0815. They are seven and nine years old. Their mother is gone. No one knows exactly where," Tony added.

"So everyone can confirm their whereabouts except for McGee?" Gibbs asked.

The significance of that statement hit them all at the same time. Gibbs sighed.

"Tony, go to his place and pick him up. Bring him back here for more questioning. Ziva, you and Jamie go and talk to his coworkers, see what they have to say."

"Most of them were...eager to share how much they didn't trust Tim," Jamie said. "The only ones who didn't do that were Brian Moore and Charles Allen, and Hal Johnson who obviously favors McGee and has done so apparently since his first day."

"Talk to them first."

No one moved for a moment. Gibbs looked around at them all.

"What are you waiting for?" he snapped. "Get going."

They scattered...and Gibbs took a breath before heading down to Abby. This was a meeting he wasn't relishing.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

"_Why don't you try to save the frogs?"_

"_Because they're stupid. They won't stop coming no matter how hard I try. I'll bet even the ones that get away come back for more and drown for their trouble. What's the point?"_

"_Saving an innocent creature who doesn't know that some water is bad."_

Tim sat in his apartment, Jethro panting contentedly beside him and wondered what to do. He couldn't go in to work. NCIS hadn't asked for his help yet...and they hadn't accused him of anything yet. ...but he felt so antsy, like he _needed_ to be doing something, and he couldn't help but think of those stupid frogs. Every so often, they showed up in his dreams, but that was one dream he didn't tell anyone about. He didn't like that he still thought of them, of the frogs flailing uselessly and then floating lifelessly in the swimming pool.

Jethro wuffled at him and Tim smiled a little.

"Yeah, Jethro...it's late enough. We can go out now." He stood up, clipped on Jethro's leash and headed out the door.

It wasn't safe to walk around the neighborhood at certain times of the day, i.e. any time when the sun was not up. Tim had learned that the hard way and now he let things be how they were. It was easier than waging a useless fight against it.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tony pulled up at the building and thought there must be some sort of a mistake. No way could Tim be living in this area. No way. It had to be wrong. He looked at the address again. No, that was definitely what was listed. Was it a joke? He kind of doubted it. This would fit with Ducky's description of a "hole in the wall". This would be awkward.

Still, he took a breath and got out of the car. There was no security in the front of the building. He just walked in. Up to the second floor, trying not to notice the peeling paint, the stained carpet on the floor. This was only slightly better than the place Tim had lived during his undercover operation.

He knocked on the apartment door and waited. Nothing. No sounds from within.

"What you doing there?"

Tony turned. There was a man staring at him with distrustful eyes.

"I'm looking for Tim McGee. This is his apartment, isn't it?"

No response.

"I'm a friend of his." _I used to be anyway._

The man laughed. "How good a friend can you be if you don't even know where he lives?"

Tony smiled. "We've lost touch for a while. I know where he lives, just wanted to be sure of the apartment number."

The man stared at him for a little while longer.

"Who do you work for?" he asked finally.

"What?"

"Come on. I can smell a cop from a mile away. You Metro? Narc? Cause Tim isn't a druggie."

"Nope. Not Metro. I'm a federal agent."

"Is that supposed to make me feel better?"

Tony grinned. For all his suspicion, this guy wasn't going to hurt him. "The pay's better."

The man smiled grudgingly. "Tim's not here. He took his dog out for a walk a little while ago. You wanna wait for him, I wouldn't recommend waiting in here. People don't like cops hanging around the hallways."

"Good advice. I'll wait outside."

Tony walked back down the hall, past the man and down the stairs.

"Hey, fed!"

"Yeah?"

"He usually walks northwest."

"Thanks."

"Don't thank me. If you're lying, Tim's dog'll get you...if Tim doesn't." Then, he laughed and went into his apartment. Tony heard multiple locks being turned as he continued on his way, digesting that strange thought of Tim being as dangerous as Jethro could be if riled. He walked out of the building and turned northward. This was a bad area of DC, one of the places that the Hope VI revitalization program hadn't yet reached. He'd never want to be in this area at night. He didn't particularly want to be here now.

Then, after walking less than a block, he found who he was looking for. He waved a little to get Tim's attention. Tim halted briefly, obviously not very happy about seeing him and then kept coming.

"Hey, McGee. I was looking for you."

"Were you?"

Tony almost winced. Tim's voice was so unfriendly when he spoke now. ...but it hadn't been when he had been talking to Ducky. It had been open, afraid, but not unfriendly.

"Yeah, I was."

"More questions?"

"Yeah."

"Back at NCIS?" Tim asked. He didn't seem at all surprised.

"Yeah."

"Okay. I have to take Jethro back first."

"You mind if I tag along? I think I might get hurt if I hang out here."

A brief smile and Tim kept walking, forcing Tony to keep up with him.

"This area is safe enough at this time of day. I've never been mugged in daylight."

Tony stopped dead in his tracks. "You've been mugged?"

"Only a couple of times."

"McGee...you've been mugged more than once?" He grabbed Tim's arm but released it instantly when Tim tensed up.

"Yeah. It's not as exciting as it sounds. They only roughed me up a little bit and when they realized that I didn't have anything, they ran. I learned when it wasn't a good idea to be outdoors and everyone went on with life."

"Didn't you report it?"

"No. Why bother? Nothing got stolen because I had nothing worth stealing. I didn't need the attention."

They arrived at his building and went up the stairs. Multiple locks turned and the same door opened.

"So you _do_ know him, Tim?"

Tim smiled. "Yeah, I know him, Jed."

"Friend of yours?"

Tim looked Tony in the eye. "He used to be."

"He gives you any trouble, you just holler. I know you got the lungs for it."

Tim chuckled and nodded. "Will do, but he won't be any trouble. I'm going to be out for a while. If I don't get back tonight could you feed Jethro for me?"

"Sure thing, Tim." Jed looked at Tony. "I have my _eye_ on you."

"Leave him alone, Jed. He's harmless."

"If you say so, Tim."

"I do." Tim opened his door and Tony got his first glimpse of Tim's new life. He was appalled.

It was a bachelor setup with a fold-out couch in one corner (obviously Tim's bed) with a doggy bed beside it, a rack of clothes (shoes lined up neatly beneath them) and a dresser beside it, the kitchen in the other corner with a counter, small sink and hot plate. The bathroom was in the other corner. There was no door. It was a cluttered space but Tony also noticed that it was very clean. As clean as a dingy apartment like this could be. What bothered him a lot more was what he noticed was missing and he blurted out his surprise before he could think about censoring himself.

"Where's your writing desk, McGee?"

"I sold it to Jimmy. It wouldn't fit up the stairs."

"But your typewriter..."

Tony made real eye contact with Tim just for a moment and he saw a pained regret there, but when Tim spoke, his voice was calm, as if giving the time of day.

"I had to sell it, too."

"But..."

"I wasn't writing anything worth reading anyway. I'd already stopped writing the _Deep Six_ series, and I couldn't find anything else to write about that was worthwhile. It was a while back. My rent was due and I didn't have enough money saved up to pay it. So...I went to a pawn shop near here and I sold it to them. Paid my rent. I got another temp job the next week; so it wasn't a real problem. Just...just don't tell Ducky."

"Don't tell Ducky?"

"Yeah. He agreed that selling my car...and my TV...and my computer...that those all made sense, particularly in this area, but he said that I shouldn't give up all my hobbies. When we realized that the desk wouldn't make it, he made sure that I found a place to put my typewriter. It was nice of him and all, but not practical."

Tim turned away and got out a big bag of dog food. He poured some into Jethro's dish and then filled the water bowl beside it. Tony had regretted a lot of things from what had happened in the last couple of years, but seeing where Tim was living...and knowing that he'd had to sell his typewriter just to pay his rent...that actually made him feel a physical pang.

"Don't tell Ducky. He'll be upset."

_Not as upset as I bet you were when you did it, McGee,_ Tony said silently.

"I won't tell him." _For now._

"Thanks. Now, I think you were picking me up to answer questions because you're starting to realize that I look guilty."

Again, the calm, cold voice. Tony wished that Tim would show _something_. But he didn't, not unless you looked him in the eye for more than a few seconds, but Tim didn't allow that. He shifted his gaze away when he noticed.

"Bye, Jethro," Tim said. "I'll see you when I see you." To Tony's surprise, Tim actually hugged the dog and then stood up. "I'm ready to go."

"Okay. My car's just downstairs...if no one stole it, of course."

"I doubt it."

Tony led the way, and Tim made no effort to chat. They just drove to NCIS in a tense silence.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"I already talked to you guys yesterday," Brian said, snagging two kittens who were trying to get out the door through his legs.

"We have some more questions," Jamie said.

"Okay..." He made a sound of exasperation as another kitten made a bid for freedom. Ziva caught it. "Come in before the rest of them get away."

Jamie and Ziva grinned at each other and stepped into the small house. There were about ten kittens running around the main room and a box in the corner. Brian saw their looks at the rather incongruous vision of a guy whose house looked like Radio Shack having a bunch of cute mewing kittens tumbling all over everything. He sighed.

"I found them on the road in a box on the weekend. I'm only keeping them until I can make sure they have a home. I'm not a cat person."

One of the little kittens in his hand began licking his wrist. Jamie turned a laugh into a cough.

"I can see that."

Brian rolled his eyes. "Would you like to sit? Just make sure you don't crush a kitten. Do you want to take one?"

"No, thank you," Jamie said...but Ziva looked at them speculatively without answering.

"So you said you had questions?"

"Yes. We need to ask you about Timothy McGee."

"Why? You don't think _he_ killed Smythe, do you?"

"We have to look into every lead," Ziva said.

"Well, whatever lead you have, if it leads to Tim, there's no way it could be right."

"Why do you say that?"

"Because...that's not the kind of person Tim is."

"What kind of person is he?" Jamie asked with a side glance at Ziva.

"Okay...Okay, he's... Tim sometimes acts a bit full of himself, but I've talked with him a lot and it's not that he really feels that way. He knows he's good at what he does but he just hasn't figured out the right way to show it. Besides, I know Teresa and Lorenzo and Paul all probably talked about that fight he had with Smythe, but it wasn't as bad as they probably made it out to be."

"What happened, then?" Ziva asked.

"Tim was getting really frustrated with Smythe swooping down every five minutes and asking what Tim was doing, why he wasn't done yet, stuff like that. Tim finally stood up and told him to get out of the way. If he wanted us to get done on time, he could help a whole lot by keeping his big mouth shut."

"Smythe didn't think much of that?"

"He was a Marine. Of course, he didn't. He accused Tim of having no respect for the Navy and all it did for the country, saying that he couldn't be trusted with a job like this. He obviously wasn't qualified for it. Quantico should have got someone better, more suited for the job."

Ziva shifted uncomfortably but said nothing.

"Tim just lost it and started shouting...but he _only _shouted. He never even took a swing at Smythe...and Smythe deserved a swing. I think a well-placed punch to the jaw would have done him good. ...but Hal came and pulled Tim away. Tim calmed down almost immediately and he seemed really embarrassed about losing it like that. Of course...with everyone gossiping about Tim being crazy, he probably hated that he was acting like it."

"He was acting crazy?" Jamie asked.

Brian hitched his shoulders uncomfortably. "It's just an expression. Tim's not crazy. You only have to talk to him for a few minutes to see that. He's just...really awkward. He's afraid of being himself around people. Of course, with the prima donnas all acting like Tim offended them just by existing, it was only natural that he wouldn't feel comfortable around _them_. ...but he was always really nice to Charlie and me."

"What about the others?"

"Well, Teresa and Lorenzo are the worst. Paul was upset that Hal hired a new guy to be in charge, but after a while, he just did his work without comment. He wasn't friendly, but he wasn't mean about it. Ronna...well..."

"What?"

"She actually quit three weeks ago, said that she wasn't going to put up with working beside a maniac anymore. She yelled at Hal and then gave her notice. She stormed over to Tim's office and said it was his fault and then she walked out."

Jamie winced. "How did Tim react?"

"That was the weird thing. He didn't react. Not at all. He stared at her, like she was TV show or something. He must have been upset, but you couldn't tell it from anything he said. Hal called him into the office a bit later and then Tim left. We all thought that Tim was being let go to make peace, but he came back the next day...and Ronna didn't. No one asked about it, but we were all wondering."

"Did _you_?" Ziva asked. "Did you ask him what was wrong?"

"Charlie and I tried, but Tim just said that there was nothing going on, that Hal had just been making sure that he was okay. ...but after that, Tim really started working on getting the program finished. He was the first one in and the last one out most days."

"Was it normal for him to come in as early as he did yesterday? He said he arrived at 0630."

"I don't know. I don't check in until nearly nine most days. He's always there when I get there. I can't think of a day when I beat him. I think part of the reason he came so early was to have some time when Smythe wasn't there...but I think he also liked working away from everyone, didn't like having all the attention." Brian looked at them both. "I'm telling you. Tim couldn't have killed Smythe. It's just not him! Besides...people disliked Tim a whole lot more than he disliked Smythe. If someone at Soft-Tech was going to be killed..."

"It would have been Tim?" Jamie finished.

"Yeah...and no one killed him. People at Soft-Tech aren't...aren't the kind of people who snap and commit murder. We're all geeks to some degree."

"Well, thank you, Mr. Moore," Ziva said standing. "If we have any more questions, we will call you."

"Okay. ...you sure you don't want a kitten?"

"No," Jamie said.

"I think I _will_ take one."

"Really? Take whichever one you want. You want more than one?"

Ziva smiled. "No."

"They're all clean. I have the scratches to prove it."

Ziva looked at the many squirming bodies and then picked up a dark gray kitten with a white patch over one eye. "I will take this one."

"Great! Thank you!"

Jamie and Ziva walked out to the car with the kitten, a clean blanket and a food dish. Ziva smiled at the kitten's bright pink tongue as it tried to lick her face.

"I can't believe you took one of the kittens. Why?"

"I like cats, but the reason I took one is because a friend of mine has been wanting to get a pet for her daughter for her birthday. I promised I would keep my eyes open."

"What if she doesn't want it?"

"Then, I will have a pet of my own."

"Ziva...I just don't get you."

"You do not have to. Is it not cute?"

"Yes. Very. I don't like cats. We don't usually get along."

Ziva laughed and then became serious. "Well?"

"Well, we don't have much, although I'd like to ask Hal Johnson about Ronna quitting. He never said anything about that."

"He is as certain that McGee could _not_ have done it as the others are certain he _could_."

"Charles Allen said much the same, although he didn't talk as much. What do _you_ think, Ziva?"

"About what?"

"Do you think Tim could have committed murder?"

"It does not matter what _I_ think."

"You know him. You've known him for a lot longer than any of these people have."

Ziva looked down at the kitten now sleeping contentedly in her lap. "He is not the same person I knew. He has changed. I will not say that I know what he is capable of."

"But you don't think he did it."

"No, I do not."

"Why?" Jamie asked. "This is real question, Ziva. Why? You must have a reason."

"Must I?"

"Yes! If it's just an instinctive denial...that's not any better than the people he works with automatically saying it's a certainty. You should at least figure out _why_ you think like you do."

"Do _you_ think he is guilty of murder?"

"The evidence says he could have."

"But do _you_ say?"

"I think he's capable of it. Whether or not he did? No one has denied that he avoided resorting to violence when confronting Lance Corporal Smythe. He's been in treatment and the worst he ever did was punch Tony in the face for what I heard was a very good reason. Violence doesn't seem to be his automatic reaction. I'm going to reserve judgment on this one. ...but if it comes down to the evidence saying he's guilty, I'm going to need more than you guys being certain he's innocent. For the sake of the one person on the team who _doesn't_ know Tim, could you at least figure out a reason why I should go along with your gut feeling?"

Ziva smiled. "I will work on it."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Well, Abbs?"

"I was looking through the data on the cameras. It's a pretty good system, but it's new and grafted onto an old one, and someone got into it that way. They'd have to be pretty handy with computers to do it, but it's possible."

"Could the people at Soft-Tech have done it?"

"If they put their minds to it, I'm sure they could. I _know_ that Tim could..." Abby's eyes went wide and she covered her mouth. "I didn't say that Gibbs. I didn't say anything like that! You know I didn't!"

"Abby."

"No! It wasn't Tim! You know it. I know it. Everyone knows it! Everyone at Soft-Tech could have figured out how to do it."

"The others have alibis, Abbs."

"Then, someone else had to have done it!"

"Why?"

"Because...because it was too sloppy! There was no attempt to cover it up or anything! Tim could have made it look like there was still video going! He's done that before! Whoever knocked out the cameras did just that! Nothing fancy, just effective."

"Is that all you have?"

"Um...no...Gibbs. It's not."

"What?"

"It's coincidence! It's got to be!"

"What, Abbs."

"I mean...it just doesn't make any sense! If it were Tim, he'd be a lot better at it than this!"

"Abby! What?"

"The bullet is a 9mm, but there's nothing to say whose gun it was. I'm guessing there was a silencer, though, and the striations are consistent with a Sig Sauer, a lot like what you guys use. Possibly the same model, but can't be sure without the weapon itself. ...unless there was already a record of the striations from the specific gun and...well, then I could identify it without any real problems. I mean...I'd have to hedge a little bit because the bullet itself is a bit mangled...since it went through the dead guy's skull, but..."

"ABBY!"

"The striations match Tim's gun!" Abby blurted out and covered her face.

"What?"

"The striations from the bullet. They match Tim's service weapon. ...from when he worked here. Eighteen months ago. When he quit. That's his gun. His gun fired the bullet that killed Lance Corporal Smythe!"


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

"We're not going to the conference room this time, are we," Tim said.

"No. Not this time, McGee."

"I didn't think so. Should I let you lead me there or walk there myself? I know where it is."

"Just come on, McGee."

Tim smiled and followed Tony. "I knew this was coming."

"Why?"

"Oh, let's do it right. Get it all on tape. You should at least have a good record of why you're going to think I'm a murderer."

"I don't think you are," Tony said without thinking. He was surprised at the almost-stricken expression on Tim's face...before he smoothed it back to his usual bland look.

"You will."

They reached Interrogation and Tony opened the door. "We'll be right in, McGee."

"I'll seat myself." Tim walked to the table and sat down, facing the mirror.

Tony closed the door and walked away, feeling like a traitor.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Hello, Mr. Johnson. I'm Special Agent Jamie Davidson. Do you have some time to answer a few more questions?"

Hal was sitting in his office looking particularly stressed out, but he nodded.

"Of course. I can't tell you much more than I told Agent Gibbs yesterday."

"This is about Tim McGee and an incident that we learned of."

"If you're talking about the fight with Lance Corporal Smythe, you're barking up the wrong tree. That ended peacefully enough."

"That's not what we're talking about Mr. Johnson."

"What, then?" he asked, genuinely confused.

"Your former employee, Ronna Howard."

"Oh."

"We were informed that she quit three weeks ago and blamed Tim and that he spoke with you for some time. Could you tell us what happened?"

"Ronna...she raises melodrama to an art form. She didn't quit. I fired her."

"Really?" Ziva asked. "Why?"

"Because she was inconsistent in her work, because she was often late. She had a horrible work ethic and I regretted hiring her at all. She said that it was because I'd hired Tim and that she was going to be displaced just like everyone knew would happen from the beginning. I told her that wasn't true. I'd already found someone to replace her, a special recruitment from MIT, a new graduate who had interned with us last year. I had promised him a position if one came up."

"Why not use Tim?" Jamie asked. "He was already here and working for you."

"Honestly? I would love to, but I can't."

"Why not?" Ziva asked. "Is his work unsatisfactory?"

"No! It's much better than I ever expected it to be, but the fact of the matter is that Tim is too polarizing. People here either outright hate him or else they like him. There's no middle of the road and unfortunately, more of my employees hate him than like him. If I hired Tim, I'd either lose multiple people or else he'd simply be miserable. I explained all of this to him. He knows that Ronna didn't quit, that she was let go. That her accusations and high-pitched screeching were without foundation. He also knows that I _can't_ hire him on permanently. He said that he understood although I know he was hurt by it."

"He wasn't angry?"

"No. He wasn't. I feel sorry for Tim. I really do. The way things get around in a small circle is sad and too many people know about him, about his history of mental illness. I don't know details and I haven't asked for them, but except for that one fight, he has never shown the slightest bit of instability. He's nervous around people and he's awkward, but he's not crazy and I only wish that I _could _have him as a permanent employee. Whoever finally sees past the gossip and the stuff on paper is going to have a real gem on their hands. I hope it happens sooner rather than later. I'm actually paying him more than I should and giving him more benefits than is required. I know his living situation isn't the best, but he's been soldiering through it and he deserves to find a place where he belongs and can be happy. ...because he's not happy here."

"You don't think he could have killed Lance Corporal Smythe?"

"Not at all. Even if you showed me a picture of him holding the gun that did it. I'd have to see him pull the trigger before I believed that he could do it."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Gibbs paused outside the door to Interrogation. He would never do this if someone was there to see him, but he took a deep breath, not wanting to start this, and then he opened the door. Tim was sitting there at the table, motionless, staring at him with what appeared to be mild interest.

"You know why you're here, McGee?"

"Yes. You must have heard about my fights with Lance Corporal Smythe, you know that I was there early, time of death must have been near when I arrived at Soft-Tech and you know that I was alone and thus have no alibi. Does that about cover it?"

"Fights? More than one?"

Tim cocked his head to the side, as if surprised by Gibbs' response.

"Yeah. No one told you about them? There were witnesses to both."

"We know about the fight inside Soft-Tech that Hal Johnson broke up."

Tim smiled emotionlessly. "I can't imagine why no one mentioned the other one. I know _someone_ saw it. I heard them leave."

"Why don't you tell me what happened?"

"Sure. It was two days ago. I stayed late after work and Lance Corporal Smythe did as well. I had thought that everyone else was gone, but I was mistaken. When I was leaving, so did Smythe. He followed me out to the parking lot and said he was disappointed by all the problems I was having with the program and that I should be ashamed of doing such shoddy work for the Marine Corps."

Tim's gaze shifted from Gibbs to the mirror. He was either staring at himself or at the people who were no doubt on the other side of the mirror.

"I told him he didn't know what he was talking about. I tried to be calm and civil about it, but he wasn't having that. He kept pushing at me and he got too close. I grabbed him by the lapels of his uniform and I slammed him against the building, knocked the wind out of him."

"You did that?" Gibbs asked. Tim looked like a stiff breeze could knock him over and Smythe had been heavy and muscular, a stereotypical jarhead.

"I could do it to you, too. You want me to show you?" Tim asked, his eyes moving briefly back to Gibbs before flitting away again.

"No. What happened after that?"

"Nothing. I told him that if he didn't stay out of my way and keep his mouth shut I'd shoot him right between the eyes. Interesting that he was shot right between the eyes, isn't it."

"What were you doing at Soft-Tech so early?"

"Working."

"Can you be more specific?"

"Sure, but I don't think you'd understand it if I was," Tim said.

Gibbs heard just a hint of the derision that had so colored Tim's speech before. He tried see beyond that, thinking of Ducky's words the night before. ...and then, just for a second, he saw it. Tim wouldn't look him in the eye, but he saw it...the fear. Tim was scared, but he was trying not to show it, and the only way he could think to do it was to put people off with arrogance.

"You know how to explain what's necessary."

Tim's eyes flicked briefly onto Gibbs' and then he looked away again.

"I was running through the list of bugs in the program, fixing the code and rerunning things to see if it worked. I didn't stop until Teresa came and complained about her monitor not working."

"You never heard anything?"

"No."

"Didn't know that Lance Corporal Smythe was there?"

"No."

"Never left your office?"

"No."

"Did you usually come in that early?"

"I had been for the last few weeks, but usually only by seven. I was earlier yesterday."

"Why?"

"I woke up earlier."

"Why?"

Tim's hands momentarily clenched into fists before he deliberately took a breath and relaxed them. Gibbs could see Tim was tensing up. The problem was that he couldn't know if that was because of guilt or because of the fact that it was Tim being questioned by people he loathed.

"Because I had a nightmare. It woke me up. I waited until it was light out and I came to work. No, I never saw anything or anyone suspicious. I didn't notice any problems when I came in. Nothing was out of place. No one else was there. I was alone. I have no alibi beyond that I was working on a computer program for an extended period of time."

Now, Tim's eyes were challenging, daring him to go to the next step. Gibbs didn't want to go to that next step. He pulled out the next piece of the puzzle: a photo of a gun.

"Do you recognize this?"

"It's a Sig Sauer. Looks like a standard NCIS issue."

"It was. We got new ones a couple of months ago."

"Okay. Congratulations. So?"

"This is _your _gun."

"Okay. And?"

"And have you seen it since you quit?"

"No. I left it in my desk, along with my badge. You've seen it more recently than I have."

"Do you know what happened to it?"

"Well, I would assume it was reissued."

"It wasn't. It was put into storage...but it's not there now. It's missing."

"Why is this relevant?" Tim asked. He seemed genuinely confused.

"Your gun killed Lance Corporal Smythe."

"What?" Tim asked.

"The striations match. It was your gun that fired the bullet which killed Lance Corporal Smythe."

Now, Tim _was_ afraid. His eyes opened wide and kept moving back and forth from the photo of his former service weapon and Gibbs' face...like he was waiting for a punchline that wasn't coming.

Now, Gibbs took the next step. "Did you kill Lance Corporal Smythe, McGee?"

Tim was silent for a long time, looking at the photo of his weapon. He began to rub at his neck and swallowed. ...and then again.

"I..." He suddenly looked pale.

"McGee, are you all right?"

"I feel sick."

He looked it, too, and Gibbs could see what was coming. He looked at the mirror and then grabbed Tim, pulling him to his feet and to the door. Ducky was there with a garbage can. Tim reached it and threw up.

"It's all right, Timothy. It's all right," Ducky said calmly, looking at Gibbs with an inscrutable expression.

Tim finished, weak and trembling. He looked at Ducky and swallowed again. "M-My gun. Haven't...fired it...not since Jewel." He gagged and threw up again.

"Calm down, Timothy," Ducky said. "Don't worry."

Tim appeared to have forgotten that Gibbs was there. "I said I'd kill him. I said I'd shoot him...right between the eyes. I said I'd do it. My gun. He was. Just like I dreamed it."

"Timothy, it is all right. You have nothing to fear."

"I hated him."

"So did many others from what I understand."

"No...I _hated_ him."

"McGee," Gibbs said.

Tim instantly stiffened. Gibbs couldn't see his face but he saw Ducky's dismay and when Tim turned around, he had a look of false disdain. It was patently false and only barely masking Tim's terror.

"What?" he asked, his voice still shaky, his face pale.

"You didn't answer my question."

Tim looked at him for a long moment, still breathing heavily as he struggled to regain control of himself.

"That's...That's your job, to figure it out. Do you have any more questions for me?"

"Could someone have gained access to your security cameras from outside Soft-Tech?"

"Yes."

"Easily?"

"If they knew what they were doing."

"Okay."

"Am I under arrest?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Evidence is circumstantial so far."

"We've held people on less."

Gibbs could see that Ducky was bursting to say something but he was holding his tongue for his own unknown reasons. He focused his attention on Tim. It seemed as though he was asking Gibbs to arrest him, although he couldn't fathom why that would be.

"We've held _guilty_ people on less. Since you're not, it's a moot point."

Tim looked almost as frightened at Gibbs' words as he had at seeing his own gun as the murder weapon.

"Don't leave town. I'm sure we'll have questions for you later, but for now, you're free to go."

There was a single moment where Tim seemed poised to flee but then Ducky touched his shoulder and he relaxed and nodded. He turned to Ducky who whispered softly in his ear. Tim nodded again and then walked away. Gibbs eased by Ducky to lead Tim out of the building. Even if he knew where to go, procedures should be followed, especially right now. Tim said nothing and didn't even look at Gibbs. When they were going down in the elevator, Gibbs had a fleeting desire to stop the elevator and force Tim to explain to him what the heck was going on in his head. ...but he resisted and led Tim to the exit. He looked after him for a few seconds and then turned to go back to the bullpen when the elevator opened and Abby rushed out past him.

"Abby."

"I won't tell anything about the case, Gibbs!" she shouted back over her shoulder. He watched her run down the sidewalk, yelling Tim's name. He looked back at her and was then enveloped in a hug. Gibbs watched only long enough to see Tim wrap his own arms around Abby before getting on the elevator. As he went back to his desk, he looked at the green eyes on the monitor and wished something he hadn't in a long time.

He wished things were how they used to be.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

Tim walked quickly down the sidewalk to his building. It was late, later than usual because he'd gone to an emergency session with Dr. Lewis that evening. He was too wound up to deal with the shock on his own and Ducky had told him to go. He was much calmer now...enough to be a bit embarrassed about his reaction. There was no reason why he should have reacted like that. It was silly and...and wussy.

...but his gun. Someone had stolen his gun from NCIS. Someone had _used_ it. ...but why? ...and what if his dreams really hadn't been dreams? What if he really_ had_ gone and killed Smythe.

_No, Tim. You didn't do that. You _know_ you didn't._

...but did he? Did he _really_? When he thought back to his time at Matt's house, back before he'd gone to the psychiatric hospital, much of the time was a blur to him. It was difficult to think of the individual days. Most of what he remembered was just that neverending fear, anger, hatred...and absolute exhaustion. Beyond that, there was so little he could remember. ...even when Ducky had been there and his friend James.

_This is an entirely different situation. You were starving yourself. You weren't sleeping. That's why you can't remember. This time...this time is different. You know what you were doing._

But when he zoned out, as he often did when working on a computer-based problem, maybe he could have forgotten.

_No! No, you've never ended up doing something you didn't remember. All that zoning out explains is why you didn't hear anything._

"Maybe I didn't _want_ to hear anything," Tim said softly to himself.

"Like now?" a voice hissed in his ear.

Tim stiffened. He had money from Ducky in his pocket. The prick of a knife in his back made him pause.

"Hand over your money."

Tim shoved his hand into his pocket and pulled out the few bills he had.

"That's it?"

"That's all I have," Tim said, keeping his voice to a whisper. He wasn't going to attract attention, not with that knife in his back.

"Are you sure?"

The pressure increased.

"Promise. That's all I have."

"Tim! That you? Jethro was getting antsy."

The presence behind him vanished as Jethro's growl resonated on the empty street. His worn nerves weren't up to the stress and Tim felt tears prick his eyelids as he tried to breathe.

"Tim, are you all right?" It was Jed, of course.

"I...am now." He stumbled forward. He had been less than a block away from his building. So close to home and still not safe.

"What happened?"

"Guess."

"Oh...again?"

"Yeah. I think...he might have been ready to draw blood if you hadn't come out."

Jethro pulled Jed over to Tim and the dog began to nuzzle Tim's hand.

"I guess that explains why Jethro was so intent on getting outside."

"Yeah...I guess."

"Huh," Jed said quietly and ambled past Tim.

"What?" Tim asked, turning.

"Looks like he didn't get what he came for." He held out the money Tim had given his would-be mugger.

"He had it. Why did he drop it?" Tim asked.

"Who knows? You want it back, don't you?"

"Yeah."

"Then take it quick before someone else sees the money and mugs us both."

Tim smiled and reached out. His hand was shaking. Jed noticed.

"You look like a ghost, Tim. Come on inside."

Tim's legs wobbled as he staggered along. Jed put a supporting arm around his back.

"Man, you weren't _this_ scared the _first_ time someone robbed you."

"It's...been a long day, I guess."

"Well, why don't you come to my place and have some tea. It's only in bags and all I have are chipped mugs, but I know it's more than you have."

Tim smiled. "I'm not really a tea person."

"Well, maybe you _should_ be. You can't drink that horrible coffee crap all the time. For one thing, it's crap. For another, it's coffee and you're already wound up enough."

"Okay...okay, Jed. Lead the way."

Tim followed Jed to his apartment and sat down on one of his rickety chairs at his old table. They chatted for a few minutes, drinking the promised tea. Then, Jed suggested that music might help and gave Tim a look. Tim grinned and got up. He walked to his apartment and grabbed a couple of records and his record player. He carried them over to Jed's place and set it up. They spent another hour or two just listening to some of Tim's jazz.

_At least Jed appreciates the music..._ Tim thought to himself.

By the time midnight rolled around, Tim was feeling much better and he went back to his apartment, record player in his arms...along with some tea bags and some strict instructions to use them.

Tim went to his apartment, set down the record player and then turned all the locks on his door. The deadbolt, the chain, the doorlock, and the night latch.

"Safe now, Jethro. Right?"

Jethro trotted to his bed and settled down.

"Right." Tim sighed. This feeling of always being in danger was something he was struggling with. Of course, his surroundings didn't really help, but there was a part of him that was always on edge and it was that part that he tried to get rid of. Sometimes, he got close. ...but not right now when everything was going so wrong.

Even though it was midnight, his phone rang. That meant Sarah was calling. She always made a point of calling once a week, even if she had nothing to say. It was like she wanted to be sure that Tim wasn't cutting himself off or going crazy again.

He was tired, but if he didn't answer, Sarah would worry. With a tired smile, he answered the phone.

"Hey, Sarah." That would be an extra day of paying for his cell phone, but he wouldn't let her know that. Instead, he put on a brave face and didn't tell Sarah about possibly being accused of murder.

She didn't need to know.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tony walked into his apartment, feeling dejected and stupid. He hadn't realized just how many pawn shops there _were_ in the Metro area. He knew there were plenty of them, but until he had started trying to track down the one shop Tim might have gone to, he hadn't realized that there were so many. In DC, out of DC...around DC. It wasn't like he could just go and ask _Tim_ where he'd pawned his precious typewriter. Tim would never tell him. ...and there weren't any really close to his apartment either. ...and Tony hadn't realized before how many varieties of old typewriters there were. He'd seen Tim's typewriter, but it wasn't like he had noted the model and make of it. Did typewriters even _have_ models and makes? He had no idea. He wanted to get _Tim's_ typewriter, not a replacement for Tim's typewriter. So far... no luck. He also couldn't depend on it necessarily still being in the shop. He didn't know when Tim had sold it and he had no idea how long it would take for some other geek to come by and want to buy an old typewriter.

Perhaps this was his penance. He couldn't erase the memory of the expression on Tim's face when he had told Tony it was too late to be sorry. How it rankled to know that, by the time he had finally realized just how bad it had been, it was too late to do anything about it. He didn't consider himself a bad person. Sure, he had flaws. Everyone did...but he'd always felt that, when it came to his job, he did it well. That included how he interacted with his team. Sure, he could be a jerk. Sure, he was sometimes a bit too silly, but he had always thought that, when it came down to it, he was there for his team when it mattered, even when it was uncomfortable for him. He could think of loads of times when he had been, when he had made sure that members of the team were okay.

So why in the name of all that was holy had he ignored the evidence right in front of his face? Why? Everyone slipped up _sometimes_, but why this time...and why for so long?

...and dang it, how was he going to find Tim's typewriter?

He sat down and, for once, _didn't_ turn on the television. Instead, he got out a piece of paper and a pen and began jotting down the steps he might take to succeed in his mission. First, how could he find out exactly what kind of typewriter Tim had owned without asking Ducky, who would, no doubt, know? Would Abby know? Maybe. She had been there a lot.

_Step 1: Figure out typewriter: Ask Abby?_

Ziva had the photographic memory, or so she claimed. Maybe _she_ had seen it and noted the make and model.

_Step 1: Figure out typewriter: Ask Abby? Ziva?_

Gibbs seemed to know everything...but had he ever been to Tim's apartment? Would his omniscience really stretch that far?

_Step 1: Figure out typerwriter: Ask Abby? Ziva? ...Gibbs?_

Okay, so step two...what would be a good step two?

_Step 2: Find pawn shop. ...How?_

How would that happen? What could he do to find the pawn shop? Ducky wouldn't know that...since he didn't know Tim had sold it. ...and since Tim seemed to have kept that a secret from the people he was currently speaking to...

Then, it came to him. Tim's old scary neighbor Jed! If anyone would know, he'd bet that Jed knew it. Of course, Jed didn't really trust him, but Tony was good at talking people around to his way of thinking. So...worry about that later. Next problem would be how to find out when Tim wasn't there and he could sneak into that dilapidated old building to talk to Jed without Tim knowing. Tony was fairly certain that Tim wouldn't see this as a favor...not until he could see the results of it anyway. At this point, it would be interfering...and with how badly Tim had reacted during his interrogation, Tony was sure that Tim wouldn't see his presence as anything other than confirmation of their certainty of his guilt.

_Step 2: Find pawn shop. ...How? Talk to neighbor Jed. Stake out Tim's building and wait for him to leave._

Okay...step three.

_Step 3: Go to pawn shop._

That was easy.

_Step 4: Find out if typewriter is there or has been sold. If sold...what?_

How in the world could he track down the whereabouts of an old typewriter sold by a pawn shop? Tony sat back, momentarily stymied.

"McGee said he got a good price for it. That means it was probably in a higher-class shop. A guy who doesn't care about the goods being stolen or whatever wouldn't give a good price for an old typewriter," Tony said to himself. "And McGee would want his typewriter to have a good long life."

At that, Tony paused. The _old_ McGee would want that. Maybe this strange new unhappy McGee didn't care.

_No! He hasn't changed that much. He still cares. He has to._

Tony decided that he wasn't going to believe that Tim had changed enough for that to be an issue. A small treacherous voice in the back of his mind refused to let it be that easy.

_How would you know if he'd changed? You haven't seen him for months. Did you really see him even when he was around?_

Tony sighed. It was hard to deny that. He had done what he usually did with Tim: make jokes and assume that made everything okay.

_How was I to know that it would backfire so badly?_ Tony asked himself...and then answered himself with another question. _When has joking about serious things _ever_ helped McGee feel better?_

He thought back to when Tim had been so traumatized by the death of his witness on his first case. He hadn't joked there, just given some needed advice and Kate had been the sympathetic ear Tim had needed. Then, when Tim had thought he shot the undercover police officer, Tony remembered that he had gone to help boost Tim's spirits in a way that would have helped _him_, i.e. joking around, trying to get Tim to go out on the town. ...and it had backfired. Badly. He was lucky Tim hadn't just thrown him out.

The list of steps to getting Tim back his typewriter lay on the table, forgotten for the moment as the bigger problem weighed heavily on Tony's mind. Tony sighed, wishing for the millionth time that he could really understand how Tim's mind worked. Things that worked for _him_ didn't work for Tim. Tim withdrew when he was upset. When he was really bothered, Tony knew that he often did the same, but he always went to _someone_, often Gibbs, but sometimes others. Why didn't Tim just do the same? Why stuff it down and let it fester? What was it about Tim that made him do that?

"Why didn't he say something at the very beginning?" Tony muttered...and then again answered himself. "Because the rest of us were too busy resenting him to see how nervous he was."

Even with all these things he was thinking (which he had thought before), Tony still knew that he didn't really understand. He couldn't because he didn't have the...the evidence, the proof, the information that he needed to really formulate a conclusion. Sure, he liked jumping to conclusions based on instinct, but when it came to people he knew, he needed more than speculation. ...and he just didn't have it. ...and he didn't know how he was going to get it.

Finally, he looked back at the piece of paper, turned it sideways and wrote one more step.

_Step 0: Figure out why McGee is the way he is. How?_

Then, he put down the pen and went to bed.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Ziva picked up her phone, started to dial...and then hung up before the number could connect. She had done this probably twenty times since she had come home. She knew it would only take one phone call and she could find out Tim's number...and call him. It surprised her how much she missed him, even a year later. It wasn't as though they had done a _lot_ together, but they had been friends. When the team had been split up, it was Tim she had kept in contact with more than anyone else. Tim had been the first one to befriend her when she had first joined the team. He was so accepting.

...and he had become a stranger before her eyes and she had been too busy expecting him to fail to notice. She told herself that the expectations had simply been realistic and it wasn't because she wanted Tim to look like a fool. She liked Tim. She didn't want him hurt. She didn't want him to be humiliated. ...but she had expected him to fail. In a way, he had, but not in the way she had thought he would. She had thought he would slip up in front of the drug dealers and get himself killed. Better that he mess up long before that could happen.

His error could have been caught if any of them had bothered to pay attention to just how bad it was. It had been bad. Really bad, and while she had noticed him being angry, she hadn't bothered to attach it to anything permanent, certainly nothing justified.

She missed Tim, but she also had seen the look in his eyes. There was no forgiveness there. If it was absent after a year away from them, could it ever happen? She didn't think she could ask for it, not when the consequences of her actions were still affecting him...but she still missed him.

Ziva started dialing again...and then shut off the phone and put it away.

She missed Tim, but there was no going back. There was nothing she could do to fix things, nothing to make them better. Nothing. It was better to move on than to hope for the impossible.

With that thought, she went to bed.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

The howling woke him up and Tim sat up on his makeshift bed...and then winced when he heard the pounding on the wall above his head and then heard the telltale sign that he'd been shouting in his sleep.

"_Shut up!" "Keep it down!"_ ...along with some choice swear words that made him flush.

He took a breath and shook his head. What time was it? He looked at his clock. Four a.m. ...and Sarah had kept him up until one talking before she remembered the time difference. Three hours was not enough, but he was wide awake. He couldn't quite remember the dream he'd been having but he remembered being terrified...and the ever-present feeling of total isolation had been at the forefront of his thoughts.

"Jethro?" he whispered and patted on the mattress. Instantly, he heard the jingle of a collar and then the squeak as Jethro settled on the mattress beside him, breathing his doggy breath in Tim's face. Tim smiled and lay back down, trying to use the methods Dr. Lewis had taught him to calm his panic. Sometimes, they worked. Sometimes, they didn't. It all depended on the situation. Today...or rather yesterday, they hadn't worked. Tim's mind had buzzed with too much information and rather than address the shock, he had been controlled by it. ...and it had showed. Oh, how it had showed.

The fear from nightmares could often be banished when it came, which wasn't very often. It was real life that caused him the most trouble. Life was cruel. He hated every minute of seeing his team. _They_ were fine. _They_ seemed to have suffered no ill effects from the operation. _They_ weren't seeing a psychiatrist every week, fighting against a societal stigma he hadn't even known existed before he had started job searching.

Sleep was gone and Tim sat up again, gently petting Jethro whose even breathing indicated he had gone back to sleep.

How naive he had been to think that he could just look for a job and get one based on his credentials. He had been so sure that, while he couldn't do the job he really wanted, he could at least go for second best. The first interview was still the most painful. He had thought that honesty would get him through and when the question had come up about the gap in his employment and the reasons for quitting, he had been upfront and clear as he explained, not in great detail, but concisely what had happened, where he had been.

The look on the interviewer's face had been almost enough to make him recoil in surprise. He could hardly have looked more disgusted...and afraid, if Tim had suddenly started swearing at him.

He hadn't gotten the job.

Now, Tim looked around his dark apartment. The piles of books in boxes along the wall, the memory of everything he had in storage, things he had intended to toss or to sell but which Ducky had refused to let him abandon.

"_These things are pieces of your life, Timothy. You can't give them up, even if circumstances are forcing you to keep them elsewhere for the moment."_

...but what would happen when they arrested him...as they surely would soon? Almost, he wished that his former boss had just done so right away, but he hadn't.

Why did they think so well of him _now_? Why couldn't they have been that way months ago?

Jethro stirred and nudged him, whuffling at him softly. Tim became aware of the soft squeaking sounds from his unconscious rocking back and forth on the mattress.

"Sorry, Jethro," he whispered. Tim forced himself to stop rocking. "Looks like sleep isn't happening for a while."

Jethro resettled himself and his easy slumber was encouraging. At least that meant no one unsavory was hanging around.

For not the first time, he wished that he still had his typewriter...not because he felt he had any ability to write something good anymore but rather because writing had always been a way for him to work through problems he had, thoughts, ideas...those things that just wouldn't leave him alone. Selling the novel had been an unexpected boon, something he hadn't planned on but had appreciated. No computer. No typewriter. He did a lot of reading now...looking at other people's words rather than creating his own. Big surprise. He sighed and reached around Jethro to pick up the book beside his bed. He flipped on his lamp and opened the book. It was one given to him by his father, entitled _The Wicked Wit of Winston Churchill_. With a smile, he read the message Sam had written inside the first cover.

"_Tim, this isn't the best collection of Winston Churchill sayings and quotations out there, but you could do a lot worse. In any case, the worst of Winston Churchill is better than the best of a lot of other people."_

Tim chuckled quietly and flipped forward a few pages. He'd read and reread the book since receiving it as a Christmas present a few months before.

'_The characteristic of a great man is his power to leave a lasting impression on everyone he meets.'_

He lingered on the quote for a few seconds before continuing his reading. Strangely, it wasn't himself that he was thinking of. It was Lance Corporal Smythe. He had certainly left a lasting impression. ...but what was he like elsewhere? He must have had friends or at least comrades in arms. What did it mean that Tim's lasting impression of him was negative? Even though he was dead, Tim felt no remorse about that. He honestly didn't care. What did that say about Smythe? What did it say about Tim himself?

The book fell to his lap as Tim stared blankly into the ether, thinking about the situation in which he currently found himself. He desperately wanted to speak to someone, but it was early in the morning and he couldn't bear the thought of waking up Ducky or Matt just to talk. Even Abby would be asleep right now. Even _Sarah_ back in California would be asleep right now. Okay, maybe not, but if he did call her, she would think something was wrong.

Something _was_ wrong. Tim could feel it building up all around him. It was like someone was slipping a noose around his neck...and at the least expected moment, it would tighten and he would choke. He didn't know why, but he was so certain that it wasn't about the program. It might be egotistical, but he felt as though it was about _him_. ...and what could he do about that? He had nothing. Hal was great, but he had the company to worry about. That had to come first. Ducky would have to worry about compromising the case by interacting with him too much. Same with Abby. The others... Tim turned away from them. They would do their jobs. Like always. It didn't matter if they thought he was guilty or not. He _looked_ guilty and they would have to arrest him.

A saying popped into his head...not Winston Churchill. He was long forgotten.

"'Better that ten guilty persons escape than that one innocent suffer.' Yeah, right." Tim knew that, for all the high-minded ideals of the justice system, that wasn't what happened. People known to be guilty escaped on a technicality while people known to be innocent, even if not punished by the court were punished by society merely for being associated with a crime.

Shaking his head, Tim got out of bed and began to pace around his apartment, unable to settle anywhere...and unable to leave in safety. It seemed strange that he _had_ been the focus of so many robberies. The first one had been the worst...until tonight. The first one had been pure ignorance on his part. He hadn't realized just how unsafe the streets were. The second had been his own fault. The break-in had been just dumb luck since so many others had been robbed as well. This one tonight, though. Tim was sure that if Jed hadn't been there with Jethro, the man who had tried to mug him would have hurt him...just because. That knife in his back hadn't been a joke or a mere threat.

"Now, you're getting paranoid, Tim," he said to himself.

...but it was how he felt. It all felt wrong. It felt... He was afraid. He had to admit it. He was terrified...and with his former team acting so strangely, he couldn't even trust them to do things right. He needed them to do what he expected. He needed them to give in to the inevitable and arrest him.

Tim didn't know why this felt so important to him, but it did. It would reassert order in a world that was out of his control. Better to be in prison than to have the world be crazy and incomprehensible.

Shots rang out in the street and Tim immediately crouched down, crawled over to his bed and held Jethro in place until the shouting and cursing faded into the distance. He didn't know what had happened and he didn't want to know. He just wanted to be safe, free of the madness that made up his world. He didn't want to get sucked into the insanity that had ruled his life last year. He felt the danger of that all too clearly. The most frightening thing about it was that, when he was in the middle of it, he didn't want anything else. He _wanted_ to be crazy. He didn't want to be thrust into that situation again.

He curled into a fetal position on the bed and remained there until a pale dawn heralded a new day. ...but he didn't sleep.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Ducky was dressed but not much more when he heard a knock on the door. It was just slightly too loud to be casual and he was afraid that he knew who it was.

_Timothy,_ he thought to himself and hurried down the stairs. He opened the door and got only a brief glimpse of Tim before Jethro was eagerly leaping around him, knowing that coming to Ducky's place meant treats that he couldn't get with Tim.

"Jethro, good morning," Ducky said, trying to calm the dog down. Jethro settled quickly but was wagging his tail incessantly, panting at Ducky. "Oh, all right. Ingrate." He looked at Jethro's much more somber owner. "Come in, Timothy. You're here quite early."

Tim only nodded, looking slightly chagrined but no more. The muteness was troubling but not overly. Ducky figured he could give Jethro what he wanted and then see to Tim's state of mind. He walked to the kitchen. Jethro was already there, nearly dancing in anticipation.

"You did _feed _Jethro, did you not?" Ducky asked with a smile, hoping to elicit some sort of response. Tim only nodded, although he did smile faintly at his dog's antics. Ducky got out the doggy treats and gave some to Jethro who ate them in record time and then wagged his tail some more...hoping for extras. "Now, now, Jethro. We mustn't be greedy."

Ducky let the silence fall. Tim broke it first.

"Someone tried to mug me last night."

"Oh, Timothy. Again?"

Tim nodded. "It was different...unless I'm going crazy. I'm afraid I am, Ducky." Tim was staring at the floor, seeing nothing.

"Why?"

"Because...the person who...I gave him my money. I didn't even try to hide it...but...but that wasn't he wanted. I felt like...like what he _really_ wanted was to hurt me. ...but Jed was there with Jethro ...and he ran...and he left the money behind. It doesn't make sense. Ducky...it doesn't make sense! It just doesn't make sense."

Tim was breathing too quickly and Ducky saw that he was working himself up...as he had the day before.

"Timothy, look at me."

Tim did.

"All right. I'm not even going to ask whether or not you called the police because I know you didn't. Were you hurt?"

"No! ...but..."

"Did you sleep last night?"

"A little."

"How little?"

"Three hours. I tried, Ducky! I really did! I just...I can't...I can't settle. Something bad is going to happen. To me. This is about me! I just don't how or why!" He dropped his head into his hands. "Why won't they just arrest me?"

"Because they know you're innocent."

It was the wrong thing to say apparently. Tim lifted his head, his eyes flashing.

"No, they don't! They don't know I'm innocent. They just _want _it to be that way. They just want things to be like they were before, but they're _not_! They can't know whether or not I killed Lance Corporal Smythe! They can't know it because all the evidence points to me! Someone...someone even used _my_ gun!"

"_Someone_, Timothy. Not you."

"Maybe it _was_ me! How would you know?" Tears were in Tim's eyes now. "You weren't there! I was! I was there!"

Ducky shook Tim just enough to get him to stop.

"Now, stop this, Timothy. I understand that you're upset, that you are worried, but letting yourself fall into the old patterns won't help."

"I want them to arrest me, Ducky," Tim said. "I want them to put me in prison."

"Why?"

"Because then things would make sense again."

Then, Ducky thought he might understand, even if just a little.

"Because they would do what you expect them to do?" he asked mildly.

Tim didn't respond.

"I've told you before, Timothy. Your former teammates, while guilty of some reprehensible behavior in the past, are not evil and they don't hate you."

"I wish they did," Tim said and started to cry. "Then, I could understand."

"Life isn't that easy, I'm afraid."

"I know."

Ducky put an arm around Tim and led him out of the kitchen, to the spare room Tim in which Tim had slept during his previous visits.

"You need to sleep and regain your equilibrium, Timothy. Stay here for now."

"Compromise the case," Tim said tiredly.

"Perhaps, but you won't be staying here permanently. While I'm working, you are going to call Judith and ask her if you can stay with them until things calm down."

"I don't want to get arrested there."

Ducky sighed. "They won't arrest you."

"They'll have to eventually."

"Nevertheless, you need more company than Jethro can give and it can't be found in your apartment. Abigail will face the same risk of compromising the case as I; so you cannot stay with her. You can't leave town until things are resolved. That leaves very few options. You know that you need help now. You wouldn't be here otherwise. So listen to me. Sleep now. Take steps that you know are necessary."

Tim looked at the bed and then at Ducky. He took a breath.

"I'm sorry, Ducky. All this...it just..."

"It's too much for the present. I understand."

"You're right. I'll call them later today."

"Good lad. I have to get ready to leave. Did you eat breakfast?"

"No."

"Then, come and join me. Then, catch up on your rest."

Tim nodded, taking a deep breath and gaining some calm. Ducky made breakfast, chatted lightly with Tim and then allowed Tim to clean up after they were done eating. Tim went into the bedroom and lay down before Ducky left which was a relief. That Tim could at least acknowledge his lack of sleep and take steps to make sure he got what he needed was a good sign.

With a deep breath, Ducky prepared for another day of investigating a crime that truly could lead straight to the young man sleeping in his home.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

"Jethro, could I speak with you for a moment?"

"Sure, Duck." Gibbs looked away from his monitor. "What?"

"First, I wanted to inform you of Timothy's whereabouts."

"Why?"

"Because he's at my home for the moment and later, unless I miss my guess, he will be going to stay with his friends in Maryland."

"He's not supposed to leave the area, Ducky. Like it or not, he's a suspect."

Ducky smiled. "I understand that. So does he. This is his friend Matt. You know where the home is. It is not far from the Metro. He is not trying to run. On the contrary, he wishes you would simply arrest him."

"Why?"

"Because it's what he expects of you and it's easier than accepting that you all have redeeming qualities."

"Sorry to disappoint him," Gibbs muttered and looked back down at his file.

"That wasn't all, Jethro."

"What?"

Ducky grabbed the chair from Jamie's desk and pulled it over to Gibbs' desk. He sat down.

"Something Timothy said to me this morning worries me."

"A lot of things he said yesterday worry _me_, Duck."

"Jethro."

Gibbs looked up. "Okay, Ducky. Spit it out. What?"

"Timothy was almost mugged last night."

"What?"

"It's not the first time, unfortunately."

"How many times?"

"Two previously and six months ago, he surprised a burglar in his apartment. He doesn't live in a safe area."

"I'm aware of that. I haven't seen anything about him in the police bulletins."

Ducky suppressed a smile at Gibbs' admission of keeping tabs on Tim, even indirectly.

"That's because, with the exception of the home invasion, he never called the police. He didn't want any attention...and he was possibly afraid of reprisals. I tried to convince him to do something but he showed a surprising stubbornness."

"It's probably because of the case, Ducky."

"These were long before."

"No, I mean the drug dealing case. The arraignments are done but the trial date hasn't been set yet. I've already had a few meetings with Vance and the DA about the fact that McGee quit and how that could look bad for the case."

"Would Timothy know about those meetings?"

"I doubt it, but he's not stupid, Ducky."

"No, I suppose not. Regardless, that was not my purpose in telling you of these muggings."

"What then?"

"Timothy felt that the one last night was different. He seems to think that he was specifically targeted by his would-be mugger."

"Targeted? Why?"

"He didn't say. He just felt that the man who mugged him had every intention of injuring him but was prevented by the arrival of one of Timothy's neighbors. ...but he is also afraid that he is simply being paranoid. The thought of falling back into the mindset that controlled him last year frightens him. Believe it or not, Jethro, it surprised him and, while thinking clearly, he has no wish to repeat the experience. As little as he trusts all of you, he trusts himself far less. If you're not careful, he may decide that he _must_ be guilty."

"I'm not going to put him in prison unless I have to, Ducky."

"I understand and I'm not trying to interfere in your investigation. I have my part to play as well and I will do it to the best of my ability, but as Timothy's friend, not as the NCIS medical examiner, I fear for his sanity."

"I thought he'd recovered from all that."

"He has, but his working environment, coupled with the stress of having to interact with people he wants to forget, plus his continuing fear of the chaos brought on by so many events... He has never been able to confront how he feels about you, not directly. I'm sorry to say that he is not as stable as I might hope, although he has shown remarkable recovery when it comes to confronting the disdain of others."

"Until now?"

"I suppose so."

"Let me ask you something, Ducky."

"Of course."

"In your opinion, both as a forensic psychologist and as someone who knows McGee, probably better than any of us, could he have killed Lance Corporal Smythe?"

"Did he possess the ability? Perhaps. Certainly, the level of animosity was extreme considering the situation, but you saw his reaction to finding out that his gun was the murder weapon. I don't believe that he's even _held_ a gun since leaving his service weapon here. He doesn't view what he did undercover with anything but extreme disgust. He doesn't speak of it with me any longer, although I believe Dr. Lewis does occasionally return to it. Physically, Timothy could have killed him. He is intelligent enough and skilled enough to do everything that was done. Mentally and emotionally? I find it nearly impossible...and as a friend of Timothy, I also reject the idea that he could be a murderer. Perhaps you should find out if he's being framed."

"Perhaps you could get your _friend _to at least say whether he's guilty or innocent."

"I couldn't convince him, Jethro."

"Why not?"

"Because I've never been able to convince Timothy to do anything other than those things he already wanted to do. I just got him to admit it. In this case, he does _not_ wish to claim guilt or innocence...certainly not to you, but not to anyone. He hasn't said to me whether or not he did it. He even has said that I can't know whether or not he's guilty. I disagree, but that is his current feeling."

"Why? I get us, but why you?"

"It is anyone, Jethro. Trust, once lost, takes time to cultivate and while Timothy trusts many people with many things, whether or not he has committed a crime? Something that would be indicative of his morals, his ethics...his sanity? No, he will say nothing until he feels it is safe to do so. However, his reaction to seeing his gun should tell you all you need to know."

"It won't convince a court of law if I have to arrest him, Ducky."

"I know."

"What are you expecting me to do?"

"Simply understand. I can't ask for more than that. It would be wrong."

"Agent Gibbs!"

Gibbs looked up...to the balcony.

"I need to speak to you, please."

Gibbs gave Ducky a significant look and stood. They both knew what the topic of conversation was likely to be.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Vance was clearly not happy although it was at least for a professional reason.

"Have a seat, Gibbs."

Gibbs sat without speaking.

"Were you planning on informing me?"

"Of what?"

"That Agent...that McGee is now under suspicion for murder?"

"He's not."

"Oh really?"

Gibbs sat straight in his seat. "He's not. McGee is innocent...but the evidence does point in his direction."

"You know what my problem is."

"Yes."

"The D.A. will need to know. If NCIS officially charges former Agent Timothy McGee with murder, that will be grounds for the defense to question his ethics and all the evidence gathered by him."

"That evidence isn't contaminated. It's all clearly legitimate."

"That doesn't matter. And you know it. Give the jury cause for reasonable doubt and they'll have to acquit."

"We haven't charged him yet...if we do at all. Why are you asking about this now?"

"Because I don't want to have the D.A. _and_ JAG on my behind if the lead investigator in the undercover operation becomes a cause for an acquittal. They're nervous enough about his time in that psychiatric hospital...although we have a guarantee of his shrink's testimony if it does come up."

"What do you want me to say, Leon?"

"That you're not going to rush to arrest him and you'll only do so if you are absolutely certain of his guilt."

"You think I'd do otherwise?"

Vance smiled thinly. "I've long since given up trying to understand how you think, Jethro. All I know is that this case is way too important for any personal problems to jam it up. I should probably just hand over the investigation to Lovitz."

"No!" Gibbs said, standing up, instantly angry at the implication. "This is our case."

"What if it _does_ come down to McGee being arrested, Gibbs? Can you handle that?"

"I thought you didn't _want_ him arrested, Leon."

"I don't...but if he's guilty, then he needs to be."

"He's not guilty."

"You might wish you were, but you're not judge, jury and executioner, Jethro. You aren't even a lawyer. Your job is to investigate and make arrests when appropriate."

"It's also up to me to make the determination _when_ the arrest appropriate."

"I know."

"We'll do our jobs. Unless you have evidence to show that we're not, there's no reason for you to take us off."

Suddenly, Leon sat down and the tension left the room.

"Jethro, have you perhaps considered that it might be better for _Tim_ for you not to be investigating?"

Gibbs sat down as well.

"Why would you say that?"

"Do you really think he trusts you to do the right thing?"

"We _will_ do the right thing."

"This time?" Vance said pointedly.

Gibbs didn't respond.

"I'll let you stay on it...for now. Keep me informed. I need to be able to update the people above me."

"I will."

Gibbs got up and left the office.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim slept until noon, feeling secure in Ducky's house. He only woke up because Jethro decided that he'd been sleeping long enough.

"What, Jethro?" Tim asked, rolling over.

Jethro barked at him.

"Out?"

Another bark.

"Okay." Tim pulled himself up and looked around. He knew where he was. He sighed and took Jethro into the backyard to do his business. The yard was small...but it was better than he had.

"Have at it, Jethro," Tim said and sat on the back steps.

Jethro began sniffing around the yard, choosing the perfect spot. Tim watched him.

"You'd be happier in a place like this, Jethro. You have to stay inside all day at my apartment."

Jethro ran to one corner and began investigating whatever it was he could smell.

"I live in a horrible place," Tim said, sighing and dropping his head. "I'm never safe. There are crimes happening nearly every day."

Jethro was satisfied with the corner. Tim smiled ruefully. Then, he sighed at the feeling of tears in his eyes.

"My life sucks, Jethro."

Jethro trotted over and nuzzled Tim's face. Tim laughed.

"Except you. You don't suck." Tim hugged him. "I don't know why you want to stay with me. I'm...I'm such a failure, Jethro."

Jethro whuffled at him and licked his face.

"Thanks."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"What do we have?" Gibbs snapped.

"Lance Corporal Smythe did not have any real friends at Quantico, but no known enemies either," Ziva said.

"We don't have the weapon, but Abby matched the bullet to McGee's service weapon. It was last seen in storage, never signed out. We don't know when it went missing," Jamie said. "And we have no record of McGee ever trying to come back here. Nothing that we've seen, never signed in."

"Tony?" Gibbs asked.

Tony was staring at his monitor.

"DiNozzo!"

"I'm not sure. None of the employees at Soft-Tech seem able to have done it. They have alibis."

"None of the _current_ employees," Jamie said. "Ronna Howard...she was fired and blamed McGee for it."

"But would she have really killed someone just to frame McGee?" Ziva asked. "She would have had to break into NCIS storage. She would have had to know where McGee worked. She would have had to be able to move Lance Corporal Smythe into the storage room...and do so quickly. The cameras were only out for half an hour and there is no sign of her anywhere on Soft-Tech property."

"Check her out. See if there's anything," Gibbs said. "...but don't waste time if it's not there."

"Boss..." Tony began.

"What, DiNozzo?"

"What if it's something else? What if it was an accident that Smythe was killed?"

"What do you mean?"

"Three people at Soft-Tech said that they thought it was more likely that Tim would be killed than Lance Corporal Smythe. What if it wasn't supposed to _be_ Smythe that was dead? What if it was supposed to be _McGee_?"

Jamie looked at him. "What do you mean?"

"Everyone seemed to know that he went to work early...what if someone was there to get rid of _him_?"

"And they had no other option but to hide the body when they killed Smythe by mistake?" Jamie asked.

"Exactly."

"That would also give that person every reason to want to frame McGee," she agreed.

"But we still have the same problem," Ziva said. "How and why did they choose to use McGee's gun?"

"Jamie, Tony, check out Ronna Howard. Ziva..."

"See if I can determine how and when someone broke into storage and stole McGee's service weapon. Yes, Gibbs."

"Do it."

"Where will you be?" Ziva asked with a smile.

"Talking to Ducky."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim sat down and stared at the phone. He needed to dial still...swallow his pride and ask for help.

"Okay. Just pick up the phone and dial, Tim. You can do this. Judith is nice. You like her. You can play with Christopher. Matt will be there. You like them all. They like you. Just call."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Ducky."

"Ah, Jethro, hello," Ducky said. "Have you spoken to Abigail?"

"Not yet."

"We found something!" Jimmy said excitedly. "Something really cool! Really...really interesting!"

"What?" Gibbs asked, not letting any hope show in his face.

"Well, you remember the powder burns on his forehead, meaning that his killer was very close to him?"

"Yeah."

"The assumption being that he knew whomever killed him."

"Yeah."

"Turn our guest over, please, Mr. Palmer," Ducky said smiling tolerantly.

Jimmy nodded and helped Ducky shift Smythe from his back to his stomach.

"You see here, just at the base of his neck?" Ducky asked.

Gibbs squinted.

"Here, Agent Gibbs!" Jimmy said, grabbing a magnifying glass. "I found it when I was looking over the body this morning!"

"Forgive him. He's slighty giddy about finding something I missed."

Jimmy flushed and held out the magnifying glass. "It's small, Doctor."

"I am merely happy it was found."

"That looks like a puncture wound."

"Exactly," Ducky said. "A needle. I have asked Abigail to put a rush on analyzing his blood. Because of the cause of death, it was not considered as important. By now, she may have worked her magic."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Finally, Tim dialed the number he knew by heart.

"_Tamson's. Judith speaking."_

"Hey...Judith. It's Tim."

"_Tim! It's been a while. Matt and I were ready to come and invade if you didn't call us sooner. What's up?"_

"A lot... I have a big favor to ask."

"_Anything. You know that."_

"Can I stay with you guys for...some time?"

"_Absolutely,"_ Judith said without hesitation. _"When do you want to come over?"_

"Well...I'm at Ducky's right now, but I'll need to grab some things from my apartment."

"_No problem! Just let me strap Chris in his chair and we'll be on our way. We can pick you up at Ducky's and make a circle."_

"I'm sorry. It's...It's a big deal."

"_No, Tim! Not at all! Chris loves riding in the car...don't you, Chris?"_

Tim could hear happy gooing in the background.

"If you're sure...I could wait..."

"_No, Tim,"_ Judith said firmly. _"You asked for a ride out here and that means you really need it. So, I'll be at Ducky's place in...well, you'd probably better give me an hour if Chris decides to get squirmy."_

"I'll be here."

"_Jethro, too, I'm assuming?"_

"Is that a problem?"

Judith laughed. _"Tim, you know how much space we have out here. I'll just make sure I take Big Bertha, as Matt calls the bigger car. Just sit tight."_

"Thanks, Judith."

"_Not a problem, Tim."_

Tim hung up and heaved a huge sigh of relief.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"I just finished, Gibbs," Abby said. "Come and see!"

"What do you got?"

"Remifentanil. That's what I've got. That's also what Lance Corporal Smythe got. Right in the neck. It has a really short half-life; so I'm lucky I got anything at all. If he hadn't been shot in the head, his body would have metabolized it all really fast."

"What is it?"

"A fast-acting sedative about 200 times more potent than morphine. They use it all the time in hospitals for anesthetics. It's pretty new, but getting more common all the time."

"And?"

"And that means that our Lance Corporal would have been pretty groggy when he was killed...probably dizzy, unable to defend himself. When he was killed, I'll bet anyone could have taken him out. His Marine training wouldn't have helped at all. He was a sitting duck."


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

Ziva took her assignment very seriously. Not only did it have serious implications for whether or not Tim could have committed murder, something she refused to believe was possible, it also would lead to the actual guilty culprit...and perhaps an explanation for why Tim was being implicated. The first problem was determine just _when_ the gun had gone missing, because they needed to figure out what pool of people could be suspects. If Tim's weapon had gone missing more than six months ago, then it couldn't have been anyone at Soft-Tech and the murder would have to be about something else. ...but what would it be about?

"Agent David, what can I do for you down here? I think you carry enough weapons at a time already. Do you really need _another_ gun?"

Ziva grinned at Arnold Mortensen who was in charge of NCIS storage. He functioned as a kind of security guard/janitor. Storage didn't need a whole _lot_ of attention, but enough that having someone whose job it was to keep track of what was going on in there was important. Arnold knew everything that went in and came out. He'd been at NCIS longer than it had _been_ NCIS. He was old enough to be her grandfather and Ziva enjoyed talking to him. He was a bigger flirt than Tony but much more gentlemanly about it.

"I do not, Arnold."

"Arnie, Ziva. Arnie. One would think that you didn't _want_ to be on familiar terms with me."

Ziva laughed. "I am sorry, Arnie. I am not here for another weapon. ...but I _am_ here about _a_ weapon."

Arnie looked at her speculatively. "A missing weapon, perhaps? Maybe the missing weapon Agent Gibbs called down here about yesterday?"

"Yes. That is the weapon."

"Figures that you'd be down here to throw my one failure in my face," he mock-pouted.

"I am not here to speak of failure, Arnie. I feel that you are the best one to help me solve a problem."

"Flattery."

"Is it working?" Ziva asked with a smile.

"Absolutely. Tell me what you need, Ziva."

"I need to figure out just when the weapon went missing. It is very important for our case. You know everything that happens in here and I think you can remember every piece in storage. Can you tell me when you might have noticed it was gone?"

"We'll need to narrow it down a bit. Let me think. Y'all got your new guns two months ago. So I had lots of old ones I was processing. A bunch of them are going to be sold back to Sig Sauer to see what parts are salvageable and what parts are not. Some might be melted down. Others resold. I kept a list of every serial number that went back to Sig Sauer and which ones stayed here as backups. We can start there. You got the time?"

"This is what I have been told to do. Yes, Arnie. I have a lot of time."

"Excellent!" Arnie said, smiling toothily. "Pull up a chair and let's get her started, Ziva. Maybe we'll have to have lunch together."

Ziva grinned at the obvious suggestion. "I would be honored, Arnie."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Jamie looked at the house. It was a bit rundown but not badly. It was small, the right size for a single woman who might be needing more income.

"Do you think this is going anywhere, Tony?" she asked.

Tony sighed. "I don't know, Jamie. I really don't know. It could make sense, but what Ziva said made a lot of sense, too. Still, let's figure out whether or not it does and then we can move on."

"Right. You want to lead off or should I?"

"I'll let you. You're a woman. She might trust you more than me."

"Or she might respond to your charms. She is single."

"You lead off, Jamie."

"Gotcha, Boss," Jamie said and gave a sarcastic salute before getting out of the car.

They walked to the door and knocked. No one answered.

"Ronna Howard! This is NCIS!" Tony called.

"Around back, maybe?" Jamie suggested.

"Let's look," Tony said, but kept his hand on his gun as they did so. Just in case.

"Ronna Howard!" Jamie called as they reached a wooden gate.

"Who's asking?" The voice was little less than petulant.

"Federal agents. We need to ask you a few questions."

A woman poked her head up over the fence and looked at them.

"Federal agents? From where? And why?"

"NCIS," Tony said. "It's about a murder at Soft-Tech."

"Did someone finally kill the nut?" she asked, with no attempt to disguise her bitterness.

"No," Tony said, not bothering to cover his own irritation at Tim being described as crazy and numerous people wishing he was dead. "Lance Corporal Smythe."

"That's almost as good. Come on back. I don't know why you need to talk to me. I left Soft-Tech weeks ago." She opened the gate and led them into the backyard. It was surprisingly beautiful. There were flowers and vines all over, plus what looked like a small herb garden in one corner.

"This is lovely," Jamie said.

"Thanks. I should have gone into horticulture instead of computers...but there's not much money to be made in growing plants." Ronna sighed and gestured to a couple of chairs. "Have a seat. What do you want to know?"

"You didn't like Lance Corporal Smythe?"

"No one liked Smythe," Ronna said. "He was overbearing, irritating and had no concept of how programming works. If it weren't for Tim being the one dealing with him, I would have said no one deserved to have to work with that guy. ...but Tim was worse."

"How?"

"He lorded his position over us. Hal may have said that he wasn't going to replace any of us with Tim, but it was clearly in the cards. Besides, Tim was scary to work with. You never knew just what he'd do."

"Did he ever give you reason to be afraid of him?"

"He'd been in the looney bin. Did you know that? For months! I heard that it was because he didn't have any control over himself. He never looked like he was completely in control when he was working at Soft-Tech. I don't know why Hal hired him. He might have been a good programmer, but we didn't need someone like him. That's why I left."

"You quit?" Tony interjected. "Hal Johnson didn't fire you?"

Ronna glared at Tony. "Technically, he fired me, but I wouldn't have stayed much longer anyway. Tim would have destroyed the company and Hal didn't seem to see it. I got out before it was too late."

"So...you didn't like Tim McGee," Tony said.

"No."

"Would it be safe to say that you held a grudge against him?"

"I guess so."

"And do you consider yourself as good at programming and computer stuff as he is?" Jamie asked, privately enjoying the baiting. She didn't think that Ronna had anything to do with it, but she was abrasive and annoying. Taking her down a peg or two was going to be fun.

"Hey, he's good, but we didn't need him to work on that project. We would have been fine without him."

"So...where were you at 7 a.m. three days ago?"

"In bed. I'm waiting for calls on jobs but I don't have any right now. Why?"

"Alone?" Tony asked.

"Yes. Why?"

"So you have no alibi?"

"Wait, a second! Are you accusing me of killing Smythe? That's way off base! The guy is a prick, but I didn't kill him! Heck, he's built like a brick wall. I'm five-four. Do you really think I could overpower a guy like that? Why not look at McGee? He's the one who couldn't control his anger."

"What do you mean?"

"I heard him on the phone one night about two months ago. Everyone else had gone home. He was mad and I couldn't understand everything he was saying but when he hung up the phone, he kicked his desk and put a dent in it. I told Hal about it the next morning, but of course, _he_ didn't have anything to say about it. Just buried the whole thing."

"That's rather beside the point, Ms. Howard," Tony said.

"Look, I won't pretend that I liked Smythe. I didn't. I don't feel any regret that he's dead. The only thing better would be McGee being dead, but I didn't kill him! Once I left Soft-Tech, I had no reason to kill him! Besides, in the end, I think it did me a favor. I hate programming. I don't want staring at a computer to be my whole life. I am not a murderer. If you want to arrest me, go ahead, but it's not me."

"We're not arresting anyone, Ms. Howard," Jamie said. "We have to check every lead. If you were given the chance to kill Timothy McGee, would you do it?"

"No, although I wouldn't say no to a chance to kick him where it counts if you want to set that up for me. Any other questions?"

"Not right now. Don't leave town, though," Jamie said with a smile.

"Where would I go?" Ronna asked and stood up. "You can let yourselves out."

Tony and Jamie headed back to the sedan.

"There's nothing here but a bitter woman who's been forced to face a possible midlife crisis," Jamie said.

"Yeah. You're probably right. We can check her out, but I think it's a dead end. Man...how in the world did the Probie ever stand working there for a week, let alone six months?"

Jamie looked sideways at Tony. He didn't seem to catch the irony of his question.

"Desperation can drive people to a lot of things, Tony. From what I understand, it's already driven Tim to a lot of things. What else did he have to do without this job? I asked him about his employment history. This is the first long-term job he'd managed to get since he left NCIS. No one else would hire him for more than a couple of weeks at a time, except when one of his friends got him temporary work in his company. Look at what all these people at Soft-Tech are saying. They know about his recent history and they've decided he's crazy and can't be trusted. They can't be the only ones thinking that. Tim is going to face an uphill battle anywhere he goes...and honestly, Tony, I don't think he's up for more than he's tried to do already. He seems way too shaky."

"He's good at what he does, Jamie."

"I'm not saying he isn't, but you know what happened in Interrogation. You know what he's done before. He's not ready for a lot more right now. Even a year later. ...and that's why I don't think he did it."

"Huh?" Tony asked. Sometimes, Jamie would skip a couple of sentences and it was impossible to follow what she meant.

"He needed that job. He still needs that job. He talked about Hal Johnson as if he was almost his savior. There's no way Tim would risk messing that up for the one person who'd expressed any sort of faith in him. Tim doesn't think that anyone will look at him for what he is, only for what he was last year. No matter how bad it got at Soft-Tech, no matter how often he lost his temper, he wouldn't commit murder...not there. ...but Ronna Howard didn't either. So...the question is who did...and why? Because guilty or innocent, Tim is involved. It's too much of a coincidence that his gun was the murder weapon."

She got in the car and Tony quickly followed suit.

"Why didn't you say you thought he was innocent before?"

"I've been waiting for you guys to talk about it like you know yourselves. ...but I don't think you do. I think your conviction is based more on guilt than on anything sound. You don't even have anything _circumstantial_ to support your belief," Jamie said as she put on her seatbelt. "You can't treat this case as a way of expiating whatever guilt you still carry. A man was murdered, Tony. Jerk or not, he was still murdered. A member of the Marine Corps was shot in the head. _That_ is what the case is. If McGee is implicated, then I know why _I _don't think it's correct...until and unless I'm shown otherwise. Do _you _know?"

Tony started the car without answering.

"You need to figure that out, Tony. You're not going to do Tim any favors by blindly assuming his innocence. He needs facts, not guilt."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Contented burbling from the backseat made Judith look into the rearview mirror and smile.

"Are you happy to see Uncle Tim again, Chris?" she asked.

Chris gave a peculiar goo...which seemed to be his way of greeting Tim. He only made the sound when Tim was around; so they assumed that it was Chris' way of saying _Tim_. He wasn't saying anything beyond making sounds that sounded vaguely like _Mama_ and _Dada_. It might just be wishful thinking. They had asked Matt's mother whether this was something they should worry about and she had given a long list of all Matt's brothers and sisters and when they had started talking...with the conclusion being that Chris would talk when he was ready to talk.

"Well, we're almost there! Just around this corner and..." Judith's smile faltered a bit when she saw Tim sitting on Ducky's front steps. He looked dejected, but when she tapped on the horn as she approached, he looked up and smiled at her. He wasn't looking very good, but his smile was real and his pleasure at seeing friends was genuine. She rolled down the window.

"Tim, do you have anything here?"

He shook his head. "No, we'll have to go to my place, but it should be okay."

"I'm not worried, not with Jethro here to protect us."

Tim smiled and led Jethro around to the back.

"Get on in, Jethro. No jumping onto the seat."

Jethro hopped into the back and settled comfortably down in the luggage area. Tim patted him and then got in front. Judith smiled kindly at him and she saw Tim's expression twist for just a moment before he looked back at Chris.

"Hey, Chris, how's it going?"

Again, that peculiar goo and Chris started wiggling excitedly.

"You haven't been over often enough, Tim. I think Chris misses you."

"I'm surprised he remembers me from visit to visit."

"Well, you know our son. He's a genius in the making."

Tim shook his head. "You don't want a genius. You just want a normal happy kid."

Judith cupped her hand under Tim's chin for a moment. "You can be happy and smart, Tim. ...and you're someone I admire; so no putting yourself down because we both know I have great taste."

Tim smiled and turned forward as she put the car back in gear. It was a Suburban, normally a size that they didn't need, but for moving a large German shepherd or other items, it was nice having the space. ...and they could afford it.

Judith could see that something was really bothering Tim right now, more than anything for months. It was hard to see, but she didn't say anything. Whatever was going on, Tim deserved to have to say it only once, rather than to her and then to Matt later on. She had called Matt after Tim had requested to stay, and he had wanted to skip out on his meetings but knew he couldn't.

The trip to Tim's apartment was uneventful and, although she'd never say anything to Tim, she was always a bit nervous driving into this area. Nothing had ever happened to _her_, but she knew it had to Tim and knowing how dangerous the neighborhood could be made her more than a little edgy.

"Do you want to come up or do you just want to wait?"

"We'll wait."

Tim nodded and jumped out. He closed the doors and she locked them instantly. Tim smiled at her and then ran into his building. She knew he'd be quick.

"Well, Christopher, take a look. You may never see this neighborhood again. ...and I hope you don't. I wish I could get Tim out of here."

Chris just laughed and hit the window a few times. Judith watched one car pull in ahead of her and a man get out. He headed into the building across the street and she shook her head at her paranoia. Tim was back out in under five minutes, carrying a couple of bags. He knocked on the back door and she disengaged the locks. He tossed them in and then got back into the front seat.

"I think that's my record for packing," he said with a slight smile.

"Off we go!" she said, and then clapped a little, prompting Chris to clap as well. "Yea!"

Tim laughed. "I love hearing you talk on a one-year-old level."

"You're not hearing any baby talk from me. But he likes it. See?"

Chris raised his arms over his head. Tim laughed and did the same, making funny faces until Chris started laughing again.

"He really likes you, Tim."

"I don't know why."

"Because you pay attention to him. He likes the attention. We're going to start looking to adopt another, maybe when he gets to be two or three. He should have at least one sibling."

"It's nice having siblings," Tim said softly.

"Are you all right, Tim?" Judith asked.

"No."

"I won't make you talk about it until Matt gets home, but is there anything we can do for you?"

"Not really, just letting me stay at your place will help. I...I'm having trouble. Lance Corporal Smythe was murdered three days ago...and NCIS is investigating."

"Oh." That made a lot of sense. "Bad?"

"Yeah."

"Okay. We'll save the rest of it for tonight, but Tim, I'm glad you called me for help."

"I promised you I would...but Ducky was the one who told me to do it."

"Well, Ducky is smart."

Tim smiled. "Yeah, he is. I really appreciate it."

"Any time, Tim. Any time...and you can stay for as long as you want to."

"I'm going to have the nightmares again, Judith," Tim said, staring out the windshield. "I did last night. I haven't screamed for a long time, but I did last night."

Judith winced sympathetically. "I'm sorry, Tim. That doesn't change anything. We'll just make sure that Chris' nursery door is closed overnight. I'm not worried."

"Maybe you should be."

"I'm not. I will never be worried about you doing something wrong."

"I have. Everyone does."

"That's true, and I won't worry about it any more than I worry about Matt doing something wrong. Of course, he will, but I'm not worried about it being serious."

"Thanks," Tim whispered.

The rest of the ride up to Maryland was quiet, but Judith was more glad than ever that Tim was asking for help. He obviously needed it.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

"It's not Ronna Howard," Tony said as he settled back on his chair. "She doesn't have a firm alibi, but she's not the one."

"She is angry and bitter but she would not have the ability to do it," Jamie said.

"Could she have had access to sedatives?" Gibbs asked.

"Sedatives?"

"Turns out Lance Corporal Smythe was drugged before he was shot."

Tony shook his head. "I doubt it, Boss. There's nothing in her background indicate access to sedatives."

"What sedative?" Jamie asked.

"Remifentanil, Abby said."

"Oh...well, I don't think she could get that," Jamie said. "It's not just available on the street easily to my knowledge."

"You have a lot of experience with that?" Tony asked, grinning.

"No more than you, Tony," Jamie retorted instantly. "Probably a lot less, in fact."

"Thanks," he said sarcastically.

"Just trying to help move the case along."

"I'd like that," Gibbs said with a warning in his voice.

"Where's Ziva?" Tony asked.

"Still with Arnie, I guess."

"New boyfriend?"

_Thwack!_

"Thanks, Boss."

"Tony, go down and..."

"Work with Abby to find out who could have had access to this...remi...fe..."

"Remifentanil," Jamie finished for him.

"Yeah, that."

"Jamie..."

Jamie rarely tried to finish Gibbs' sentences for him, but this time she smiled...at Tony, as she answered. "See if Tim could have had access to remifentanil?"

"When you get done with that, check on the crime statistics for the neighborhood where he lives."

She cocked her head to the side. Even Tony stared.

"Why?" Jamie asked.

"I think it might matter. Go!"

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Ducky was relieved to find Tim gone when he got back from NCIS that evening. He saw the note Tim had left him and smiled.

"Good. Good lad, Timothy. Take care of yourself."

He set about making dinner for himself, knowing that Tim would call when he was ready to do so. The house was more lonely when it was empty like this, but perhaps it didn't have to stay that way. The smile changed and Ducky dialed a number he had neglected for some time.

"Hello, Jordan. Yes, it's Donald. I know it's been a while. Are you free for a late dinner this evening? I know it's short notice."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Ziva sat back and looked at the lists, the time frames, hours of details.

"I'm sorry to have kept you so long, Ziva. I get attached to the details. You know what they say."

Ziva smiled. "I do not know."

"God is in the details."

"Yes, I have a feeling He must be. Who else could remember them all?"

Arnie chuckled. "Good point. So...does this help?"

"It helps some. It does not give an exact time frame, but it gets me closer. McGee's gun was _not_ in the batch shipped back to Sig Sauer two months ago. That is important. It must have been taken from here."

"But I don't remember seeing it hanging around with the spares we kept on hand. I don't read the registration numbers every time I walk by, but I remember where things are and aren't."

"So...it went missing between three and four months ago. You cannot narrow it down any more than that?"

"Nope. Sorry. I remember it getting turned in, not by Agent McGee either. It was Agent Gibbs who did it. I put it back with the others we had on hand, secured but visible." He tapped a few keys on the old computer which he had set running a search. It was slow and so the search hadn't yet finished. It finally beeped at him. "Ah, this might help you."

"What?"

"I have no indication of Agent McGee coming in here for a visit. I make everyone sign in and out. If he showed up, it was after hours."

"I did not say I was looking for McGee," Ziva said.

Arnie chuckled. "You think I'm an idiot, Ziva? I'm hurt. I know what you're doing. People's tongues wag and I listen. Ah, here's something you might want to know."

"What is that?"

"Back a few months, within the time frame that we're looking, there was a request to see Agent McGee's gun."

Ziva leaned forward, now interested.

"From whom?"

"From some lawyers. They didn't come personally, but they had a signed form giving permission to examine Agent McGee's gun."

"Why?"

"As a part of their mounting defense in that drug dealing case that _still_ hasn't come to trial. I can't believe the pace of the justice system sometimes, you know? I thought it was supposed to be a _speedy_ trial, not a _snaily_ trial."

"Did they take it with them?"

"No. Course not. Didn't have permission for that...although I think they _would_ have if I had been willing to let them. They examined it. Took pictures. It's their right when the weapon was involved in the case."

"Yes. Yes, it is. Could you describe the person who came?"

"Sure. I can do better. I can give you a picture!"

"How?"

"We haven't converted to digital cameras around here. Not important enough. We're old school and rather than reuse tapes, we save them for five years and then destroy them." Arnie smiled. "Aren't you glad you hung out with me today?"

Ziva felt a leap of excitement. "Arnie, I will bring you any dinner you want if you can show me who came here to look at McGee's gun."

"Anything?"

"Anything. I will make it myself."

"And eat it with me?" He winked.

Ziva laughed. "If that will make the evening more enjoyable for you, yes."

"Oh, it will. Excellent. Come with me, Ziva. Step into my antiquated storage system and let's see what we can find."

Arnie stood up only slightly creakily and held out a gallant hand. Ziva grinned and took it, allowing him to help her up. Then, she followed him back to the racks of tapes in storage.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Matt got home later than he had wanted, but earlier than usual. He had rushed through the meetings he could rush and cancelled what he could cancel. If Tim was bad enough off that he was actually asking for help, then it must be bad and he didn't want to let this happen without getting some help from a friend. When he opened the door, he could hear the excited giggle of a child getting spoiled by attention. It made him smile because he could also hear Judith in the kitchen which meant that Tim was the one making Chris laugh. He always liked seeing Tim play with Chris. It was one of those things, much like seeing Tim with Sarah, that reminded Matt of how young Tim was inside. That was something that the years hadn't changed. When it was possible, that youth came out and revealed itself...perhaps because of so many years of repression.

"What kind of a circus do I live in?" Matt shouted.

The excited giggle was replaced by Chris shouting, "Ga ga ga ga ga!"

For whatever reason, that meant "Dad".

Matt put his briefcase on the bench in the front hall and tossed his keys on the table...just in time for Chris to reveal himself, scooting into view in the peculiar crawl he utilized in place of walking or anything else normal. It was almost like he was swimming on the floor. Matt laughed.

"How's Chris doing?" he asked and dropped to his knees.

Chris giggled and swam/crawled over to Matt and then climbed up his legs until he was standing. Matt took his hands and held him upright.

"You're looking great!" he said.

"Flattery will get you nowhere."

Matt looked up and saw Tim standing in the doorway. He was smiling but there was a definite shadow in his eyes, tension in his stance. Yes, it was bad.

"You've been entertaining your Uncle Tim?" Matt asked, standing up with Chris in his arms.

Chris gave his Tim goo.

"He's never going to learn your name, Tim. You're going to be that weird sound for the rest of your life."

Tim smiled again. "Could be worse."

"How?"

The smile vanished. "It could always be worse."

Matt walked over, shifted Chris to one hip and slung his free arm around Tim's shoulders.

"Sure, but that doesn't mean it _will_ be worse."

"Some things will be."

"Sounds like you're having a rough time, Tim. You ready to talk about it?"

"Not now. Later, okay?"

"Sure." Matt led them all into the kitchen. "What's for dinner tonight?"

Judith looked up from a cookbook and smiled. "I'm trying something new. Lime chicken."

"Lime? That's different. Any good?"

"I don't know, Matt," she said patiently. "It's new." Then, she walked over and kissed him. "I'm glad you're home."

"Me, too."

"Especially because that means one of you can set the table and one can make sure our little monster doesn't decide that he can climb up the stairs again."

Chris began clapping his hands and bouncing in Matt's grip. Then, he reached out for Tim.

"Ah, the king has spoken," Matt said and handed Chris to Tim. "I will set the table. You guys go and play."

Tim took Chris and Matt watched as the tension and anxiety melted away in response to Chris' enthusiasm.

"I'll take him outside."

"Just keep an eye on him," Judith said as she started zesting a lime. "Chris has decided that the pool is the best place to be. He loves his bath and the pool is apparently just like it in his mind. We've taken him to those baby swimming classes where they teach the babies to flip onto their backs in the water, but we'd rather not have to test it."

"I'll stay away from the pool. Probably not the best place for me either to be honest."

Before Matt could say anything, Tim smiled and carried Chris outside. He closed the screen door but left the other open. Matt walked over and watched Tim as he set Chris on the ground and started walking him toward the little playset they'd bought after the adoption.

"What's going on, Judith?" Matt asked.

"I wish I could tell you. He's not wanted to talk about it yet. I'm not pushing. It's enough that he's come to us for help...although he told me that it was because Ducky told him to."

"I'm not complaining about that, but we should get him to talk sooner rather than later. I learned my lesson last time. Maybe if we _had_ pushed before..."

"What?" Judith asked. "He wouldn't want to avoid our pool? We've done the best we can and that's enough."

"I know. I just don't like seeing him so miserable. I wish he wasn't so dang stubborn and would just let me help him out."

Judith walked over and put her arms around Matt's waist.

"You are helping...and you know what would help me?"

"What?"

"If you'd stop moping and start setting the table."

Matt smiled and patted Judith's hands.

"As my wife commands."

Matt set the table and dinner was ready about an hour later. They ate all together, cleaned up and then played with Chris for a few minutes before putting him to bed. Judith read him a story. They listened for his crying but there was nothing...meaning that they could talk.

"Okay, Tim. What's going on?" Matt asked as they sat in the living room.

Tim shifted uncomfortably on the couch and looked out the front windows.

"Tim, come on. Tell us. You're welcome to stay no matter what," Judith said, "but you should let us know what's going on."

Tim took a deep breath.

"Lance Corporal Smythe is dead. Murdered. At Soft-Tech."

Matt nodded. "Sounds not fun. I know you didn't get along with him but..."

Tim interrupted. "No. You don't understand. I was there. I was there when he was murdered. I didn't hear anything. I have no alibi. I was there alone. I was working. I threatened to kill him. I threatened to shoot him. I don't have a gun, but I threatened to shoot him." He spoke more quickly as he got wound up. "He was shot using my gun. No matter who killed him. It had to be because of me. Somehow. I don't know how. I don't know why! ...but he's dead. I don't care, but he's dead. ...and they're investigating. They had to. It had to be them, but they won't arrest me and I don't know why!"

Matt stood up and walked over to where Tim was sitting.

"Tim, calm down...and slow down. I'm not following. What's wrong with not getting arrested? If you're not guilty, then they shouldn't arrest you."

"They don't _know_ that I'm not guilty. All the evidence points to me, but they won't arrest me!"

"Tim, why is that a problem?" Matt asked.

"Because they're not doing what they're supposed to do!" Tim said. "...and I can't..." He took a deep breath. "I'm sorry."

"Hey, you don't need to pull back, Tim," Matt said. "We're not judging you. Tell us what's going on and we can try to help!"

Tim dropped his head and stared at the cushion on the couch.

"I'm afraid that..."

"What, Tim?"

Tim lifted his head. "I feel like this is all about me, no matter how dumb that sounds. I feel like...what if...what if I _did_ kill him and I just don't remember? What if I just lost it like I did last year? He was killed with my gun! That can't be a coincidence! What if I killed him and don't know I did? Everyone already knows I'm capable of murder! I've done it before! What if I did it this time? What if I went crazy and killed a person who was a jerk but shouldn't have died? Everyone at Soft-Tech thinks I'm crazy anyway. What if I really am? I don't have a grip on myself...and seeing them...it's... I'm... ...and I don't want anything that I've done to rub off on you!"

Judith joined the two men on the couch.

"Tim, I can't imagine that you've done anything so wrong as commit murder."

"I've killed people before."

"In the course of doing your job. That's completely different," Matt said. "If that wasn't the case, I'd be in a whole lot of trouble after being in the Army."

Sandwiched between Matt and Judith, Tim slumped back against the couch and closed his eyes.

"I'm just so afraid of being what I was. I thought I was better, but since this started..."

"Tim, you _are_ better. This is just a setback. You're not crazy," Matt said.

"How do you know? How _can_ you know? You can't," Tim said.

"Maybe not in terms of being able to scientifically prove that you're sane, but I do know. For one thing, you weren't diagnosed with any sort of mental disease or syndrome that is permanent. You're not on medication for the problem you have. You are dealing with something very difficult, something that changed you, but you're not crazy."

"I don't want to be. I don't want to be like that again."

"That's why you're not. You said it yourself before that you knew what you were doing was wrong but you didn't care. You care now. So you're not the same as you were last year. Remember, Tim: you're not crazy and you're not a murderer."

"Are you sure of that?"

Matt met Tim's questioning gaze full on. "Yes. There are very few things I'm more sure of."

Tim smiled a little. "I wish I could be so confident."

"I know."

"I don't want to be a bother."

"You're not. I promise."

"And if you're wrong?" Tim asked, his eyes frightened. "If I really am...what I think I am?"

Matt saw that it was a real question. He refused to let even a particle of doubt enter in. "I'm not wrong. ...and you're not what you fear that you are. So there's nothing to worry about. If you have nightmares, that's fine. If you have a few meltdowns, that's fine. I'm not afraid of you, Tim."

Tim's mouth quirked in a half smile.

"...but I am."


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13**

Tim didn't sleep well that night, although he _was_ quiet. No one heard a peep from him. Chris woke up once, demanding attention, but Judith ran to quiet him and he went right back to sleep, not a care in the world.

If only Tim could be so lucky. By morning, he had only had a couple of hours of genuine sleep and was unable to do more than doze after about four a.m. As confident as everyone else was about his sanity, Tim couldn't feel the same. He was too afraid of slipping back into his previous state of mind, that of hatred of the world around him with no concern for himself or others. He didn't want that. He really didn't want that, not now that he was aware of how wrong that mindset was...and how much damage it could cause.

He wanted to be normal again. He just couldn't figure out how to do it.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Who is this guy?" Tony asked, staring at the image on the plasma the next morning.

"He is David Collier," Ziva said. "He is listed as a private investigator, but he has much about him that is...hinky."

Jamie chuckled. "Hinky?"

"There is no other word for it...or at least I cannot think of one." Ziva shrugged. "He came to look at McGee's weapon, with documentation from Antone Grant's lawyer that it was part of their defense to have access to the weapon used to kill Julia Westin." She pushed play as Collier came into storage and made his request. There was no sound but he was made no threatening moves. His body language was completely polite.

"What's hinky about him?" Tony asked.

"He has no background. He has worked as a private investigator for only one year...and yet, there is no indication that Grant's lawyer searched for anyone more experienced or with a better reputation...and there are many options. He was their first and only choice. Why?"

"Any connection with Grant or his lawyers before this last year?" Gibbs asked.

"Not that I or Abby have been able to find. It seems that he has only been in DC for the last year."

"Before that?"

"That is the hinky part," Ziva said. "He was nowhere. I cannot find David Collier before last year. He must have changed his name, but he did so in a way that I cannot discover. Abby is still working on it."

"Address?"

"He's registered with the DMV," Jamie said, turning to her computer. She typed in a few commands and brought up his driver's license. "There you go. Reston, Virginia. Hey, isn't that where Ducky used to live?"

"Yeah. Why?"

"Just interesting. That's all," Jamie said.

"What are you waiting for?" Gibbs asked.

"Which of us?" Jamie asked.

Gibbs looked at Jamie. "Remifentanil."

"Uncommon as a street drug," she said. "Mostly used as a sedative in surgery and for pain relief after surgery. So far as I can tell, Tim wouldn't have been able to get ahold of it. It doesn't seem to be much of a possibility. He doesn't have enough money."

"Are you sure of that?" Gibbs asked.

"I haven't seen any sign of hidden funds."

"Have you looked?"

"Do you want me to?" Jamie asked.

Gibbs nodded. "Do it."

Tony and Ziva both opened their mouths to protest and then simultaneously decided not to say a word.

"Tony, Ziva, go and check on Collier. Jamie, get going on McGee's finances. Don't hold back."

"I wouldn't dream of it. Do you want me to ask Abby for help?"

"Only if you have to."

"I understand."

Tony and Ziva grabbed their bags and headed for the elevator. Jamie sat down at her computer and began to file the requisite requests. ...and Gibbs sat at his desk and looked at the eyes on his computer. He sighed.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim went out to the deck chairs beside the pool after breakfast that morning. He was still so tired from his rough night, and both Matt and Judith could tell. They ordered him to try and get some more rest while they took Chris out for a walk...and a chance to see the horses.

Tim agreed and fairly collapsed onto a convenient chair. He looked at the pool, remembering the last time he was there...and the frogs. He had been tempted to go out and look at them during the night but had resisted, knowing that it wasn't a good idea. However, now, with the sun up, the day bright...and his knowing he wasn't alone here, Tim felt himself relax. Nighttime was a bad time for him, no matter where he was, but it was better just knowing that he was safe here. After a while, his eyelids drooped and he fell asleep.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"It does not appear that anyone is home," Ziva said as they got out of the car. It was a small house, part of duplex.

"Is he in A or B?" Tony asked.

"A."

"After you," Tony said, gesturing gallantly.

Ziva grinned and preceded him to the door. They knocked. ...and knocked again. No one home.

"Do we go in?"

Ziva knocked once more and the door swung open.

"It is open."

"How did you do that?"

"I did nothing."

"Right." Tony stepped inside. "David Collier? Federal agents!"

No response. The house was silent. Tony and Ziva stepped inside and drew their guns. They walked side by side, clearing each room, not that there were many to clear.

"He apparently runs his business out of his home," Ziva said, staring in at the small study.

Tony looked over her shoulder. "Apparently. ...and he doesn't seem to be very busy."

"Why do you say that?"

"There's not even a filing cabinet in here. He has a little stack of paper on the desk."

"Perhaps he has merely joined the digital age."

"Possible, but I think he'd have to keep some form of hard copy."

"No sign of him being here," Ziva observed. "We cannot use anything we find if we get it without a search authorization. We should go."

Tony looked around and then nodded. "I don't know that we'll find anything here anyway."

Ziva headed back out front but then stopped by the front door and crouched down.

"Tony, look at this."

"What?"

Ziva was very carefully moving a small stool. She shifted it about two inches and then pointed to a small wire...which led back behind the curtain...to a small supply of what looked suspiciously like C-4.

"He has rigged this home. A...boob-trap?"

Tony snorted. "Booby-trap."

"Is there any real difference?"

"Connotation mostly."

"Ah."

"How sensitive?"

"It is not on a timer. It looks as though there is a way for a signal to be received. How many private detectives are worried about someone looking through their home?"

"Not too many. Let's go," Tony said. He stepped out onto the porch and then headed over to the car while Ziva replaced the stool to the exact same position and then closed the door behind her as she left.

She joined Tony as he called Gibbs.

"Boss?" he said. "We've got something here...not what we expected. Yeah. No, Collier's not here, but he's set up his house to explode. Ziva says it's signal-activated. Yeah... I don't think he's just a private detective. Can we get an authorization, you think? ...yes, and a bomb squad."

Ziva smiled at the addition.

"We'll be good. Promise." Tony paused and then held out the phone. "Gibbs wants to hear you promise to leave the bomb alone."

Ziva laughed. "I promise I will keep my hands to myself, Gibbs."

Tony put the phone back to his ear and listened. Then, he hung up.

"We have to wait for the bomb squad, but Gibbs is getting the search authorization."

"Good."

Tony looked at the house, suddenly pensive."

"What is it, Tony?"

"This guy was looking at McGee's gun. McGee's gun was used to commit murder. Even if he didn't do it, and he didn't, but even so...this has something to do with him."

"Yes, but what? And why?"

"I don't know, but I'm beginning to think that McGee's in more danger than anyone else in this thing."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

A swirl of memories melding into nightmares and Tim began to wake up from his slumber. He didn't know how long he'd been asleep, but long enough to be disoriented by his sleep. He thought he could sense someone nearby. It could only be Matt or Judith, but for some reason, he was worried. His eyes were still closed, but he knew someone was standing near him.

_You're just like me, Mac. Just the same..._

He couldn't shake off the nightmare. He began to struggle to wake up completely, to get away from his fear and return to reality. As bad as it was, it couldn't be as bad as what he was seeing.

_Nothing you can do. You can't get away..._

Tim finally was able to open his eyes. He jolted awake and looked up.

...and screamed in terror.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"What do you have, Jamie?" Gibbs asked.

"There's nothing in Tim's records to indicate any secret stash of funds. He's barely getting by, Gibbs," Jamie said, looking up from her computer. "If he wanted to get a hold of it, he'd have to get someone else to buy it for him, and I can't see anyone in his life who would do that. The only one who would have access is maybe Ducky...and that's a maybe. He could get a hold of it, but you know he'd never do that."

"What about the crime stats?"

"I've got those, but I don't know what you're looking for."

"Send them over to me. You head out to Reston. Once the bomb squad is done, help Tony and Ziva."

"Yes, Gibbs." Jamie stood up, bag in hand, and then she paused. "Gibbs?"

"What?"

"It's been great working with you all, but I just want to let you know that I won't mind if you decide you want someone else in my place."

"Who would we put in your place, Agent Davidson?"

Jamie smiled. "Agent McGee, maybe?"

"He's not an agent and he doesn't work for NCIS."

"Just wanted to let you know that I won't be offended."

"Get to Reston."

"On it...Boss."

Gibbs looked up in surprise. Jamie had, not once, used that particular title. She grinned and headed for the elevator. Left alone, Gibbs pulled up the statistics for crimes committed in Tim's neighborhood over the last year. He almost winced at the high number of thefts and burglaries that took place in the area. Not very many arrests. A few shootings, a few assaults. And yet, even with all that, Tim being on the receiving end of three muggings, plus a home invasion. That seemed much too high to be coincidental. He wasn't sure why this was bothering him, but his gut was telling him that it was important. He made a note to himself to ask Tim about the incidents. He needed details.

For now, however, he turned his attention back on the murdered Marine. This case seemed more and more likely to be related to Tim somehow...but it was also looking less and less like he was the murderer...a fact which made Gibbs relieved while at the same time worrying him.

If Tim wasn't a suspect, then he must be a victim.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

The scream carried across the yard and Matt looked at Judith for only a few seconds before handing Chris to her and taking off toward the house, Jethro right by his side. It didn't matter that they hadn't really ever heard Tim scream before. What mattered was that it was Tim screaming now and he must be in some sort of danger.

Matt's heart was in his throat as he sprinted toward the pool. When he got to the fence, he felt as though the whole universe shuddered for just a moment. Tim was in the pool, face down, blood oozing from his head. He took all that in instantly and without another thought, he kicked off his sandals and jumped in, noticing a bloody spot on the edge of the pool as he did so. It was consciously noticed only briefly but was filed away for later investigation. Right now, all his attention was on getting Tim out of the pool.

Matt turned Tim over. He was out cold. Quickly, he lifted him out of the pool, onto the side. Judith arrived with Chris in her arms.

"Call 911, Judith. Hurry," Matt said and started CPR. As he started chest compressions, he shouted after her. "Get me something to bandage his head! ...and get a blanket!"

He began mouth-to-mouth again. Tim couldn't have been in the water for very long. From the time he'd heard the scream to when he reached the pool was probably less than a minute. It had to have been. Not very long. Tim could be okay. He _would_ be okay.

He did chest compressions again.

"Come on, Tim. Be okay," he said softly.

Judith came out of the house, phone to her ear, blankets in her hand...and Chris in a baby carrier. He was fretting but at the moment they had to worry about Tim first.

"He's not breathing?" Judith asked.

"No."

Breath. Breath. Training from years before came back as if it had been yesterday. Matt remembered using this same technique on friends of his...friends who hadn't survived.

Breath. Breath. Chest compressions. Fast. Hard.

"The ambulance will be here soon."

Matt only nodded.

Breath. Breath.

Tim started to cough and water began streaming from his nose and mouth. Immediately, Matt turned him onto his side. The coughing continued with no noticeable inhalations.

"Come on, Tim," Matt urged.

Jethro was pacing back and forth, whining worriedly. It only added to the noises going on all around. Tim coughing. Chris crying. Jethro whining. Matt wanted to tell everyone to shut up, but he knew that wouldn't really help matters.

Finally, a strained, noisy inhalation, followed by more coughing.

"Scissors, Judith," Matt said. "We have to get him out of these clothes. I'm not going to risk pulling the shirt over his head."

Judith nodded, ran inside and returned. As she handed it to him, an inappropriate smile crossed her lips.

"He loves this shirt. He'll never forgive you."

"I hope he has decades to resent it," Matt said and cut the shirt.

It wasn't cold outside, but Tim was shaking. He wasn't really conscious, but he was definitely breathing now. Breathing and coughing. Without pausing, Matt pulled away the shirt he had sliced to ribbons and then pulled off Tim's pants, leaving him only in his boxers. Then, he covered Tim with the blanket, being sure to leave Tim's airway clear. Judith grabbed the destroyed shirt and pressed it against the large bleeding cut on Tim's head.

They had Tim in the recovery position, covered by the blanket, by the time the ambulance arrived. Tim's eyes opened slightly. He reached out for Matt.

"What is it, Tim?" Matt asked.

"Ssssomeone...hhhhhere..." And he was out again.

Matt didn't have a chance to get any more information because the EMTs came, talked with them for under 30 seconds and then whisked Tim away. Judith began comforting Chris, holding him close and swaying gently. Matt stood up, running his thumb back and forth over the empty space between his fingers.

"He said someone was here," Matt said.

Judith nodded.

"We have to call the police."

"No, Matt. NCIS."

"Tim wouldn't want that."

"It doesn't matter," Judith said. "What other reason could there be for someone coming after Tim? It has to be something with NCIS. Call them."

"...and Ducky...and Abby. They'll want to know."

Judith nodded again and got Chris to stop crying, although he was taking the heart-wrenching, shuddering breaths. Evidence of his fear.

"Here, take Chris. I'll call."

Matt nodded and took his son in his arms. He sat down on one of the chairs, still breathing hard from the exertions. Jethro padded over beside him and whined pitifully.

"It's all right, Jethro. He's going to be fine."

Chris clung to Matt tightly.

"I hope."


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14**

Matt and Judith stayed home to wait for NCIS to arrive rather than go straight to the hospital. They had called Ducky and Abby to tell them what had happened and see if they could go and see Tim. Ducky had agreed instantly, but Abby had to remain at NCIS because of a number of tests she was running in addition to the work with the Soft-Tech case. Matt had suggested that Judith go to the hospital, but she had insisted on remaining behind. ...for moral support.

Matt rather thought that she wanted to make sure he behaved himself. He hadn't ever met any of Tim's former coworkers, but he was fairly certain he wouldn't like them...just on general principles. That might go against his church's teachings, but he would be the first to admit that he was a flawed human being, possessed of a tendency to want to protect those he saw as being in his care. He'd always felt somewhat responsible for Tim, at least since they had become friends. Maybe it was because Tim had always seemed so much younger.

Tim had said someone was there. Matt didn't know if that meant Tim had been forced into the pool, if he had been attacked or if he had been frightened, but he decided to pull out his old tracking skills from his time in the Army. They were a bit rusty, but he figured he could remember what to do. Besides, times like this...he just couldn't stand to sit around and wait. The same personality that had goaded him into joining the Army had not been lost with the mutilation of his hand. It just went dormant...until needed. Like now.

"I'm going to look around outside," Matt said. "When the NCIS people get here, show them where to go."

"Matt..." Judith said, Chris in her arms. He was still clinging, still frightened by what had happened.

"I'll be careful."

Judith looked like she wanted to protest, but then she smiled slightly. "At least take Jethro with you. We both know that dog can attack when needed."

Matt laughed. "Sure, okay. Come on, Jethro!" he called. The German shepherd which had been laying morosely on the ground, hopped up. "Let's go see what happened, okay?"

Jethro barked once and trotted beside him as he walked out.

Together, they headed out to the pool. Matt crouched down beside the blood stain he'd noticed before.

"Now, Jethro, how did Tim hit his head _here_, even if he was having another nightmare? ...which is likely." Matt sighed but didn't touch anything. He'd seen enough cop shows to know the idiocy of touching anything...and Tim had told him horror stories.

Matt considered. The deck chair was not placed right on the edge of the pool. In order for Tim to have fallen and hit his head on the pool in this particular place, he would have had to stand up and then collapse forward...and then almost dive into the pool. It would have to be a complete disconnect from reality...or a suicide attempt.

"No. Tim wouldn't do that. He's stressed out, yes, but he's not suicidal. That means there's another explanation, Jethro. Tim has to be right. Someone was here. Someone was trying to hurt or kill him. ...but why?"

Jethro barked once.

"Okay...so someone was here. Where did he go...and how did he get here? ...because I didn't see anyone. Not even a flash of anyone. Granted, I was paying a lot more attention to Tim...but I think I would have noticed. So..."

In his mind's eye, Matt could see dense foliage instead of the open lawn. He looked around. Cover. Whoever had been there would need some sort of cover. The only available cover were the few trees right beside the house. They wouldn't be much, but they'd be enough with Matt in a panic about getting to Tim in time. He headed off to the trees.

"What do you think, Jethro?" he asked the dog as they examined the trees. There was a single bent twig. That would have been enough for him twenty years ago.

"I think you'd better stand up and tell me what you think you're doing."

The dry voice startled him, and Matt could hear the voice of his drill sergeant yelling at him for not paying more attention to his surroundings. He stood up and turned around.

"I could ask you the same question," he returned. "This is my home. Not yours."

Matt sized up the man in front of him. He was older, graying hair, styled in a slightly-longer military cut. Former military. That meant that this was the infamous Gibbs. Matt felt his own expression harden a little. This was one of the people who had driven Tim to his breakdown.

"NCIS," Gibbs said.

"Yes, I figured. You're Agent Gibbs."

"Have we met?" Gibbs asked, raising one eyebrow.

"No. I only know you through Tim. I'm Matt Tamson. This is my house. Tim is my friend."

"What are you doing?" Gibbs asked, not responding to the unspoken accusation.

"I'm looking around. Tim said that there was someone here. I'm trying to figure out how I didn't see him. There's not a lot of cover around here."

"And you didn't see anyone?"

"Not a soul. Not before or after."

"Before or after what?"

"Tim screamed and went into the pool."

"Hasn't he been in there before? What makes you think that there _was_ someone here to help him in?"

Matt bristled instantly. "Because, unlike _you_, Agent Gibbs, _I_ happen to trust my friend. Just because he had some problems in the past, that doesn't mean he's forever tarnished by the experience. If Tim said there was someone here, there was someone here, and the last thing I need to hear is you thinking like everyone else does and assuming that he's crazy. Tim's _not_ crazy! He's a man who's had a lot of problems, who's still fighting to get back to normal, but he's no more crazy than I am."

To Matt's surprise, Gibbs didn't react at all. He could see how this kind of stoicism would be off-putting...to most people.

"You pulled McGee from the pool?"

"Yes."

"Must have been hard seeing him like that."

"No harder than seeing him about 30 pounds too light, confined to a psychiatric hospital. ...but then, you never had to see that, did you. You never had to see him at his worst, never got the chance to see the final results of everything Tim went through. You know...my church teaches us to forgive everyone, no matter what they've done...but I'm not perfect. Not by a long stretch, and I don't see any reason to change my first assessment of you."

"Which is?"

"A man who is more impressed with himself and his own life, his own pain, than he could ever be with the poor pitiful peons who have the misfortune to work for him."

"Matt!" Judith said, sharply as she walked across the lawn. "We want the same thing here. We want to find out what happened so that Tim can be safe. Let him do his job. We don't have to like him to do that."

Matt took a breath. "You want me to take Chris?"

"Depends. Are you going to behave?" Judith asked. Her voice was serious but she smiled slightly.

"I'll behave."

"Good. Then, take Chris. He's still fretting. I'll show Agent David where we were when we heard Tim."

Judith handed off Chris to Matt and then headed back to the house where Ziva was standing by the door. Chris held tightly to Matt.

"I can't apologize at the moment, Agent Gibbs, because it would be completely insincere, but I'm ready to answer any questions you might have."

Gibbs inclined his head slightly. "Did you find anything in your investigation?" The tone was slightly sarcastic.

"Yes, actually. There's a place where someone could have hidden. I haven't timed it, but anyone in halfway-decent shape could have run to these trees here and been mostly out of sight."

"Mostly?"

"I wasn't looking for anyone. I was a little distracted at the time," Matt said and lifted Chris up over his head briefly, smiling and laughing. Then, he pulled his son back down into his arms and rocked him back and forth as he continued to speak. "It would have been enough. Tim had warned us about his nightmares coming back and he didn't sleep much last night. He was napping by the pool, and I knew that he might have more nightmares, even during the day. We finally got rid of most of the frogs that kept coming to our pool. Turns out that there was something in the water that attracted them, like pheromones...or something. We changed the stuff being used and now we only get one or two occasionally. Thank goodness."

"Frogs?"

"Oh, right. You wouldn't know about those. Tim used to have a bit of an obsession with watching the frogs drown in the pool overnight."

"So he wasn't showing the same obsession now?"

"No. Not at all. Tim is a lot better than...well, than _he_ thinks he is. He's afraid that he really is going crazy, but he woke up briefly before they took him away and he told me that someone had been here. He wouldn't have said that if he didn't think it was true...and there's no reason to think he's wrong...and a lot of reasons why he's probably right."

"Like?"

"Like the bent twig on the trees over there. Like that bloodstain there. It's not in the right place if Tim just woke up and fell over because of a nightmare. Someone was here, Agent Gibbs. I'd stake my life on it...someone who is coming after Tim for reasons I don't know, but you'd better figure out. Tim's in danger...as much from his own fears as from outside dangers."

"Meaning?"

Matt looked back at the pool. "Tim thinks that he's to blame for everything that's been happening. He told us about the murder at Soft-Tech. He wants you guys to arrest him but you won't. He's afraid that everything is pointing to something that is his fault, whether he's actually guilty or not. Now, he's going to be afraid that he's put us in danger."

"You don't think you are?"

"No. I think _he_ is...but no matter whether he is or not, this is pushing him too far. Tim can't take all this coming down on him right now. He needs to be safe."

Gibbs nodded. "Do you know how many times McGee has been mugged in the last year?"

"Three times, not counting the home invasion," Matt said...and then paused. "...oh, and there was something else he mentioned once."

"What?"

"He said that he thought he'd seen someone watching him at Soft-Tech. He laughed it off, calling it his latent paranoia, but he seemed bothered by it."

"When was this?"

"About four months ago."

Gibbs nodded silently, filing away the information for future perusal. He looked around the yard.

"Why didn't you go to the hospital?"

"Tim needs to have people who believe him. I wasn't sure NCIS would; so I made sure I was here to let you know the real story, not just what you might see."

"We've got it covered. You can go."

Matt looked at him intently, trying to find even a scrap of concern. He saw nothing. Either Gibbs was needlessly good at hiding how he felt or he was even colder than Tim thought he was.

"How is he doing?"

"He started breathing on his own before they took him away. I haven't heard anything more."

They walked back toward the pool and Matt saw another agent crouched down beside it, drawing sketches of the area. He looked up as they approached.

"Hey, you Matt Tamson?" he asked.

"Yes. You must be Tony." Matt tried to keep his voice neutral, but he could tell by Tony's expression that he'd failed.

Tony rallied quickly. "I take it that McGee has mentioned me before."

"You might say that. Not by name recently, but in the past."

"Right. Uh...is there any chance that whoever it was might have got into your house and come through there to the pool?"

"Possible, but not likely. It would have been faster and easier to run around the house, and I didn't see any sign of a car parked in the driveway."

"So he'd planned this well in advance. Have you noticed anyone hanging around your house?"

"No. I can ask Judith, but I'm pretty sure she'd have mentioned it to me if she had seen anyone."

"And you never saw the guy?"

"No, but that doesn't mean he wasn't there."

Tony nodded, but like Gibbs, didn't respond to the antagonism.

"So...where was McGee...in the pool?"

Then, Matt saw it. Tony wasn't as good at hiding things as Gibbs was. As he looked toward the water, the diffuse red tint made him swallow.

"He was still near the side but unconscious and face down." Matt didn't like remembering that himself. "I had to get in the water to pull him out."

"His injury?"

"About at the base of his skull, slightly to one side. I don't remember which."

"All right," Gibbs said, stepping in. "We'll finish up here. We'll need to talk to McGee when he's awake, see what he has to say."

"I figured. Do you mind if I tell him that? Let him adjust to it first?"

For the first time, Tony seemed frustrated. "Look, we're not monsters! We're not going to hurt him! We just need to ask him routine questions!"

"Tony," Gibbs said.

"No, Boss! I am sick and tired of people treating us like we're some sort of demons in disguise when it comes to McGee! We messed up. I know that and you know that. Everyone knows that, but so did McGee! We have done everything he asked of us, even leaving him alone and not trying to talk to him at all when he told us not to. So why are we _still_ getting treated like dirt?"

Matt felt his lips stretch into a wan smile. "Maybe because when I look at Tim, I see someone who is still struggling. When I look at you, I see someone who has moved on...as I wish Tim would do. Whatever problems you may have had from this, they're nothing to what Tim is still dealing with every day...so, maybe it's wrong of me, but my sympathy is a bit thin on the ground when it comes to you, Agent DiNozzo. Is that everything you have to ask me?"

"Yes, thank you, Mr. Tamson."

"You're welcome. I'll go and get my wife. If we have to talk again, she's a lot nicer than I am." Matt looked at Chris who had started to cling again during Tony's rant. "Chris, can you say bye?"

Chris still clung fearfully and then peeked his face out at Tony and Gibbs for a moment.

"Come on, wave bye-bye." Matt picked up Chris' hand and waved it. As soon as he let go, Chris redoubled his grip. Matt sighed sympathetically. "This all really scared him, today," he said. "I think I was the only one more scared than Chris. It was just like being back in the Army and watching friends die." Then, he turned and walked toward the stables.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"So were you _in_ the stables when you heard the shout?"

Judith shook her head. "No. We were outside, but we could not see the pool from where we were. ...and it was not a shout. It was most definitely a scream. I have _never_ heard anything like it before...and I hope I never do again."

"I am sorry that your family went through this," Ziva said.

"I'm a lot more sorry for Tim. This is just the worst that has happened. Tim really thought he was going to be moving on, going to be getting his life back together...but life seems intent on pushing him down. I told him once that he wouldn't be going through all this if God didn't think he could handle it. Do you know what he said?"

"What?" Ziva asked, curious.

"He said that he appreciated the confidence but could I ask God to stop trusting him so much." She laughed. "I told him that he could do more than he thought, but he said, at the risk of being blasphemous, maybe God thought too much of him." Judith sighed and then looked around. "This is about where we were standing. Matt was holding Chris, but he can run a lot faster than I can; so I took Chris and Matt ran. Chris was so frightened by all of this that he still hasn't recovered from it."

Ziva looked back toward the house. The pool was not visible, but it was possible that they could have seen someone running...if there was someone to be seen. She was about to ask when Judith spoke again, not really looking at Ziva, just staring out at the yard.

"We told Tim he'd be safe here. We've _always_ been safe here. Matt said that it was about the only good thing about being a wealthy businessman. He had to leave the Army and go to college. He's never really regretted it, but there's a part of him that will always wish he could be back in the Army. ...and he hates that Tim was attacked here."

"You are sure he _was_ attacked?"

"Yes," Judith said firmly. "If Tim said he saw someone, then he did."

"Why are you so sure?" Ziva asked. She was surprised by the instant trust...and even more she was surprised that she believed Judith.

"Because I know Tim. Later, he might wonder if he really saw the man...but when he woke up, if he hadn't seen anyone, he wouldn't have said he did."

"What if he was not thinking clearly? Head injuries can do that."

"I know. I know that it's your job to think of these things, but, Agent David, I have no doubt that Tim saw someone. Who that person was and why he attacked Tim, I don't know, but I _know_ that Tim was attacked by someone, that he is in danger for some reason...and I just hope that you can figure it out before something else happens."

"Judith!"

Ziva turned and saw Matt coming across the lawn, still holding Chris.

"What is it?"

"Agent Gibbs said he didn't need us anymore. You want to go over now?"

"Yes. Did you have any other questions, Agent David?" Judith asked.

"No. If there is anything else you remember, please call us."

"I will."

"Thank you."

Judith walked over to Matt and took Chris from his arms.

"Are you ready to see Tim, Chris?" Judith asked.

Ziva heard Chris make a strange sound, but he smiled.

"Good. Let's go. Good-bye, Agent David."

"Good-bye."

Ziva watched the trio walk away. Three people who cherished their relationship with Tim, who believed in him with a fervor she had never seen before...except perhaps in herself when she had so desperately believed that Ari had been innocent.

Quickly, she shook away that thought. She knew that she had harbored a _need_ to believe that Ari was innocent because she couldn't tolerate the idea that he might be guilty. This belief from the Tamsons was different. It was sure and there didn't seem to be any doubts.

She wished that she could feel the same.


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15**

Images in his head shifted and swirled. Jewel kept merging with some dark shadow, reaching out for him, picking him up and throwing him off a cliff...and he would fall toward the mirror at the bottom which would shatter. He could laughter. Jewel's laughter as he lay among the broken shards of glass. He tried to get away, but the Jewel shadow was everywhere he turned. Then, he saw her with Matt and Judith. Jewel had Chris in her arms...

"Timothy, wake up, lad."

The voice cut through the chaos and Tim struggled to break the hold the visions had on him...but they were so strong and the darkness was so thick around him.

"No...no! Leave them alone!" Tim shouted and tried to run toward Jewel. Her smile became cruel as she stroked Chris' face with one sharp fingernail.

"Timothy!"

Tim felt something sharp on his face, a swift slap, perhaps.

He was suddenly feeling very dizzy.

"You're dreaming, lad, wake up."

Tim was trying, but it was like he was fighting through molasses to get his eyes to open. His dream kept pulling him back down into its swirling chaos.

"Help..."

"Come on, Timothy, wake up."

The gently-entreating voice began to penetrate through the nightmare. He was still afraid and the nightmare seemed impossible to escape.

"Timothy."

He managed to open his eyes briefly and see...someone...but then, his eyes closed and he was sucked back in again.

"I saw that, Timothy. Try again."

A hand was on his arm. Tim felt another hand on his forehead.

"That's it, lad. Come on back. I'm still waiting."

Tim tried to get free of the dream, of his subconscious mind. He pushed it away and tried not to believe what he saw was really happening.

Jewel took out a gun, aiming it at Tim's friends, looking at him all the time. Matt and Judith couldn't see the danger.

"NO!" Tim screamed and came awake, sitting up...much too quickly. His head started to spin and he wobbled.

He might have fallen over, but that hand was still on his arm. It became a steadying presence as Tim took in deep gasping breaths and tried to get his head to stop spinning. He blinked...and then blinked some more, trying rid his vision of those dangerous black spots.

"That's it, Timothy. Calm down and breathe."

Tim followed the instructions, happy to lean on whoever was there while his brain tried to re-engage with the world around him.

"Ducky," Tim said, realizing who it was.

"Yes, lad."

Tim blinked again and lifted his heavy head. He met Ducky's smiling gaze and sighed.

"A bad dream?"

Tim tried to think and then his eyes opened wide. "Matt! Judith!"

"Calm down, Timothy. They're fine. In fact, they called me to let me know they were on their way over here to see you."

"No. No, they shouldn't," Tim said, trying to get the words out before he forgot them. "No, I'm too dangerous. I'm not safe. They should stay far away. They shouldn't..."

Ducky's smile vanished and concern took its place.

"Why would you say that, Timothy?"

"I'm going crazy, Ducky," Tim said. "That's why. I'm going crazy and I'm going to turn into the same kind of person I was before...and I don't want that. I don't want people to see me like that again. I need to go back to the loony bin. I need to be locked away. I can't..."

"Timothy, what happened? Matt told me that someone had attacked you."

"I thought that was what happened...but why would someone attack me, Ducky? There's no reason! I don't do anything of importance anymore. I don't investigate crimes. I don't do anything of value! No one would be attacking me! I'm turning everything into what I see in my nightmares and I don't want that to become real! Not again!" Tim could feel his stomach twisting at the very thought.

"Deep breath, Timothy. Take a deep breath."

Tim took a _lot_ of deep breaths. All in a row.

"No. Slow, deep breath. And hold it for five seconds."

Tim took one shuddering deep breath.

"Good. Now, let it out slowly."

The exhalation was shaking but slow.

"Good. Now, why would you choose to believe that you had imagined an attacker, Timothy? You told your friends that you had seen someone."

"I was dreaming, Ducky. It was Jewel. I was just dreaming," Tim said. "Jewel...she's..."

"She is dead, Timothy, not alive, not real...and she has no power."

"I know...and I saw her. That means it was all in my head. I've never hallucinated someone before, Ducky...and I did. I'm going crazy. I hurt myself this time...what if I hurt someone else next time? What if I hurt my friends?"

Ducky shook his head. "No, Timothy, don't let yourself fall into the trap of second guessing yourself. It won't help."

"It doesn't matter what will help, Ducky," Tim said, feeling the nervous energy drain out of him. "It doesn't matter because we both know that I'm losing my mind."

"That's not true. I think you're trying to force your mind to break because that will make more sense to you than the possibility that something truly _is_ happening to you that is not your own doing. You're trying to remove the idea that it could _not_ be your fault, Timothy, and that is more worrying than the attack on you."

"There wasn't anyone there, Ducky. I thought I saw Jewel when I woke up. She's dead. It couldn't have been her."

Ducky gently eased Tim back down onto the bed. Tim resisted slightly, not wanting to sleep again and face that dream, but he didn't have the strength to fight. His head was still spinning and it ached, he now realized.

"Perhaps not, but that does _not_ mean that you did not see anyone."

"I won't ignore it this time, Ducky. Pretending there was nothing wrong is what made me..." Tim's voice dropped to a whisper. "...Thomas..."

Ducky sat down on the edge of the bed. "No, Timothy. Do not compare what is happening now to what happened then. It won't help."

"Nothing will help."

Ducky's voice became stern. "Timothy, don't do this."

"What?"

"Don't let your tendency to believe the worst of yourself keep you from seeing reality. It was not Jewel you saw, but I find it difficult to believe that you saw no one at all."

"Why?" Tim asked, wishing that he could believe the same as Ducky.

"Because you did not tell Matt that you saw Jewel. You saw _someone_. If it had been Jewel you saw, in your dazed state, you would not have hesitated to say her name."

Tim just shook his head and closed his eyes...but only briefly. The dream was still much too fresh in his mind. He didn't want to sleep. Not now.

There was a knock at the door and Tim opened his eyes as Ducky turned.

"Come in."

"Hey, Tim. You're looking a lot better."

Tim found a smile somewhere. "Hey, Matt. You, too."

"How are you feeling, Tim?" Judith asked, Chris in her arms.

"Like I almost drowned."

Matt smiled and then laughed softly as Chris gooed and reached for Tim.

"You feel up to holding a squirming almost-one-year-old? He's been asking for you."

Tim pushed himself up and then grimaced when Ducky propped the bed up so that he could lean back.

"Sure. For a little bit."

Chris smiled as Tim held him on his lap. He settled against Tim and got a tight grip on Tim's hospital gown.

"I think he was scared for you, Tim," Judith said. "He hasn't been calm since we were all running around like headless chickens."

"I'm sorry," Tim said.

"Oh, no. It's not your fault. We probably could have reacted more calmly...but we didn't and Chris could tell that Matt and I were terrified. Thus, he's terrified. Only, we can calm down because we know the danger is past. He just doesn't understand that yet."

"Maybe, he's right," Tim said and lifted Chris up so he could stand on Tim's legs. "How you doing, Chris?" he asked. Then, his dream reasserted itself much too strongly and he closed his eyes.

"Tim, what's wrong? Should we get someone?"

Tim shook his head. "No...just take Chris...okay?"

He heard Chris whine when Matt pulled him off Tim's lap, but he tried not to freak out. He knew it was only a dream...but...what if it wasn't...

The two-fingered hand on his arm made him tense.

"Tim, what is it? What just happened?"

"Nothing."

"That wasn't nothing."

"Just a dream."

"About Chris?"

Tim opened his eyes and looked at Matt who was sitting beside him and then looked at Chris and Judith...and then at Ducky.

"I'm going crazy. I keep...keep seeing...her and...and I know it was only a dream. Jewel's dead. I killed her, but..."

"What did you dream, Timothy?"

Tim closed his eyes. His head ached. "Jewel had Chris. She kept...kept touching his cheek. She was going to kill you all. ...and when I woke up...I saw her, and I know she's dead. I'm going crazy again. I don't want to hurt anyone."

Matt's hand pulled away.

"Tim, that's..." He stopped.

"Timothy, would you like me to call Dr. Lewis and have him come and speak to you?"

Tim nodded, keeping his eyes tightly closed. "Yes. Get him. He'll know. He'll see."

"All right, Timothy. I'm sure your doctor will want to look you over now that you're awake. We'll go and get him. Do you mind being alone for a few moments?"

"No."

"All right."

Another hand on his arm (this one with all five fingers).

"Don't doubt yourself, Timothy. You are allowed to be correct."

Tim didn't answer.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Why did you stop me, Ducky?" Matt asked. "Tim doesn't need to believe that he's going crazy! Enough people think that already!"

"I know, but he's not going to listen to you, nor to me. Not in his current state. Personally, although I have no claim to being certain, I think he _wants_ to have all this be a product of his mind."

"Why?"

"Because then, no one would be in danger...and none of this could be his fault... which is what he fears. Don't be surprised if he tries to find somewhere else to go once he is released."

"Where will he go, Ducky?" Judith asked. "He doesn't have anyone else here, unless you or Abby can take him in now."

"Impossible, I'm afraid. Until he is officially cleared of suspicion, I risk people questioning my objectivity...which they may do anyway, considering my obvious attachment." Ducky smiled. "Abigail is in the same boat. I don't know what the current status of the investigation is, but I do hope that the evidence is leading them away from Timothy. What did you see?"

"Nothing," Matt admitted reluctantly. "All I saw was Tim...in the pool...bleeding. I don't want to see that again, Ducky. I don't want to...to see Tim like that ever again."

"I completely understand. I have seen Tim in states I hope are never repeated." He sighed. "If someone were _trying_ to make him lose his gains over the last year, they couldn't have been more successful."

"Wait, what did you just say?" Matt asked.

"If they were trying to..." Ducky trailed off as he realized what he had said...and let out a very undignified swear word. "Who would–? ...oh, dear."

"What, Ducky?" Judith asked.

"Past that is not past. I must contact Dr. Lewis and let him know that Timothy is in need of his help, but I also need to speak to Jethro and tell him. Don't tell Timothy about this. He will only feel more afraid."

"If...If you're right about this, Ducky, _shouldn't_ he be afraid?"

"Perhaps, but he won't be afraid of the right people. He will only fear himself and what harm he could bring on others. He won't be afraid of someone hurting him."

Judith shifted Chris to her other hip. "If this is as bad as it sounds, you shouldn't waste any time. We'll call Dr. Lewis. You call NCIS. Let them know."

Ducky nodded and pulled out his phone. He didn't know how all these pieces fit together, but he had a sinking feeling that Tim was indeed at the center of the murder at Soft-Tech...just not in the way he might have thought.

_Jewel, indeed,_ Ducky thought. _Could he have known subconsciously just what was going on?_

Who knew. Timothy was not likely to have any idea...and that ignorance could be deadly.


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter 16**

"That it, Boss?" Tony asked, looking around the backyard.

"Yeah."

"I'll take everything back to NCIS, if you guys want to go and talk to McGee about what happened." He tried not to sound eager to do so.

Ziva looked at him suspiciously. "Why?"

"Well...I don't think McGee needs to face all of us at once...and besides, I'm the one he punched out before, remember? I'd rather not risk a relapse. I don't think my nose could take another hit and maintain its integrity."

Ziva rolled her eyes, but Gibbs looked at him suspiciously.

"I'll do it, Boss," Tony said again.

"Fine. Then, you can..." His phone rang. "Gibbs."

He listened silently.

"You sure of that, Duck?" He sighed. "Fine. No. Fine." He hung up.

"What is it, Gibbs?" Ziva asked.

Gibbs looked at Tony. "When you get there, tell Vance that McGee may need protection."

"From what?"

"From someone trying to kill him. Ducky is convinced that someone involved in the drug case from last year is after McGee."

"Could we not–?" Ziva stopped and then shook her head. "He would not want us."

"Probably not."

She nodded silently but seemed slightly dejected. Tony took the opportunity to gather up the evidence and head toward the truck, leaving the sedan for Ziva and Gibbs.

"You might as well knock off when you're finished, DiNozzo," Gibbs said. "We're not going to get much more done today anyway."

"Got it, Boss," Tony said, inwardly celebrating the success of his foray. Now, he had the evening to implement his plan. He headed off, wondering if he was being silly about this when Tim's life could be in danger.

_We do what we can...and McGee doesn't want our help anyway._

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Dr. Lewis came into Tim's room and saw his patient. Tim still had an IV, his head was bandaged, but most apparent was his anxiety. Tim was sitting up in bed, holding his green teddy bear and rocking back and forth.

It was a classic picture of someone disturbed...but it didn't seem right. Something was off about the image.

"Tim?"

Tim didn't look up. "You have to take me back. You have to. I need to go back to the hospital."

"Why?"

"Because I'm losing it. It's safe there."

"Ducky told me...but Tim, you know that you're not."

Now, the rocking changed. It became less agitated...and more real.

"Tim, do you really think that you've lost your mind?"

"Yes."

Dr. Lewis smiled. "Look me in the eye and tell me that."

No response...and Tim refused to make eye contact.

"Tim, look me in the eye and tell me that you really think you've lost your mind again or are in danger of losing it."

Tim closed his eyes...and the truth came out.

"I wish I was."

"Why?"

"Because...then, it wouldn't be about me."

"You think it is?"

Tim nodded, eyes still closed.

"Why?"

"I recognized the guy who attacked me."

"You told Ducky you thought it was Jewel."

"I did...and I wasn't lying. I did at first, but then I remembered who it was. I've seen him before."

"You have?" Dr. Lewis was surprised by that.

"Yeah...a few times. Watching me."

"Why haven't you told anyone?"

"I don't want this to be about me." Now, Tim opened his eyes and showed his real anguish.

"Tim, someone tried to kill you...unless you're still going to pretend that you aren't sure about that."

"No."

"Do you know why someone tried to kill you?"

Tim nodded, again surprising Dr. Lewis.

"Why?"

"Because of the drug case that's supposed to go to trial in a few months." Tim shook his head and then winced at the injudicious motion. "I was the lead...agent undercover."

"But, Tim, that wouldn't get rid of the evidence you gathered."

Tim tried to smile but there were tears in his eyes. "It would if they could cast doubt on me...personally. If...If I was suspected of murder...and they could cast doubt on my work as an agent."

"Tim..."

"Don't you see, Dr. Lewis? Someone killed a man...killed him just as I threatened to kill him...and killed a man I hated...and made it look like I did it! Don't you see? If I'm not crazy...if I'm not imagining things...then it's my fault...because he wasn't killed for anything _he _did wrong, but because they wanted to make _me_ look like a criminal!"

Inwardly, Dr. Lewis sighed. He strongly suspected that this tendency to take blame predated Tim's undercover operation. It just hadn't been helped at all by it.

"That's not true, Tim. If someone did kill this man to cast doubt on you...you still aren't guilty. Don't try to take blame on yourself for what someone else did. You know that's never a good idea."

Tim's grip on the teddy bear tightened. "...but if I hadn't been there. I didn't like him. I really didn't...but if I hadn't been there, there wouldn't have been a reason to kill him! If I had...I don't know...done something else..."

"Tim, if you're right, it doesn't matter what you chose. It matters what they chose."

"That's why I should go into the hospital again. It's safe there!"

Dr. Lewis shook his head. "Tim, we've been over this...more than once. That's not what the psychiatric hospital is for. It's not for you to hide from the world. You have to face it. If you don't, you'll _never_ feel safe...no matter where you are."

Tim let out a shaky sigh.

"I thought I'd hit rock bottom before. I thought I couldn't sink any lower...but this is worse! This is a _lot_ worse. Going nuts was...was easy compared to this."

"Compared to what?" Dr. Lewis asked and sat down on the bed.

"Everything that's been going on. People thinking that I'm still crazy...not being able to find a job anywhere...living where I do...trying to get on with my life when I don't even know what it is anymore. This is worse."

"I know it's bad right now, but that doesn't mean it can't improve. You just have to take some time...to _let_ it improve. Tim, you've been sabotaging yourself from the beginning, going for jobs that don't really interest you, saying things that you don't need to say."

Tim buried his face in the plush head of the teddy bear.

"Have you told your team about what you know?"

Tim shook his head slightly.

"Why not?"

"It's their job to...to know what happened. It's not mine. Not anymore."

Curiously, there was no resentment. Tim was just stating what he saw as a fact.

"How are they supposed to know if they don't get information from witnesses, Tim?"

"Evidence. Investigating. That's their job."

"You need to tell them."

"No."

"Yes, Tim. As your doctor, I'm bound by doctor-client privilege, but you need to tell them about this."

"They can find out on their own," Tim said softly.

Then, it clicked. "Because they won't believe you?"

Tim said nothing, and Dr. Lewis decided it was time to be stern.

"You have a job, Tim. ...and it's not about being an agent. It's about being a responsible citizen. You have information about a crime. It's your _duty _to report that information. It doesn't matter whether they believe you or not. What matters is that you take control and you give them to the chance to accept or reject what you say. If you let this person get away with ruining your credibility...a lot more can go wrong than this murder. The prosecutors are already a little worried about needing me to testify to your mental acuity. Can you imagine if you were formally charged with murder? These people could get away with all the crimes they've committed...not because they're innocent but because other people believe _you_ are guilty! Tim, you can't let that happen! Whether you're an agent or not, you can't let that happen. If you do you'll feel a lot more guilt from knowing you could have helped prevent that than you do right now."

There was a sound of someone clearing his throat from behind. Dr. Lewis turned and saw Gibbs standing there.

"We're just about through here, Agent Gibbs. Could you give me a minute?"

A nod and Gibbs withdrew. Nothing more. That was another sigh-inducing action. Gibbs really didn't make it easy.

"Tim, there's another reason you need to tell NCIS about what happened."

"What?"

"Because you need to stop avoiding all interactions with your former teammates. That's as good as saying that you're not over it...and you can't move on until you really engage with them and work through this continuing fear, yes, it's a fear. You are as afraid of them as you are of yourself, and that's not going to change if you keep hiding. Tell Agent Gibbs what you know and let him be the judge of what needs to be done. Stop believing the worst of yourself and of them."

Tim said nothing.

"I'm only a phone call away, Tim," Dr. Lewis said and then walked out of the room. Gibbs was standing at a discrete distance from the door. "Agent Gibbs?"

"You finished?"

"Yes. One suggestion?"

"What?"

"Take it easy on him. Let him work up to what he has to say because you're probably aware that he has things to say. Don't push him to what he knows needs to be done. Just give him some time. It might mean that you have to talk more than you want to, but believe me that if you can get him talking now, it will be better all around."

Gibbs merely grunted and headed toward Tim's room. Dr. Lewis watched him go and hoped that things would work out well.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tony pulled to a stop in front of Tim's building. Perhaps it was in bad taste, but he was taking advantage of the fact that he knew precisely where Tim was...and besides, Vance had taken the possible threat very seriously and had sent two agents over to the hospital to be on guard duty. Tony himself was not needed...and this was something that he could do, insignificant as it probably was in the grand scheme of things.

He locked his car and headed up to Tim's neighbor's door. He knocked and waited.

The door opened a crack, showing a chain lock still engaged.

"What do you want now, Mr. Fed?"

Tony smiled. "I'd like to talk to you, if that's all right, Mr. –?"

"No need to call me _mister_. Just Jed'll do. What do you want to talk to me about? If it's questions about Tim, I have nothing to say. I told you already that he's not guilty of whatever you're investigating."

The door started to close, and Tony took a risk and put his hand in the space.

"Please, Jed. I'm not here as an investigator. Really. My name is Tony. I'm just here to ask you something...and yes, it's about Tim, but it has nothing to do with any investigation."

"Why don't you just ask Tim, then?"

"Because I can't."

"Why not?"

"He's in the hospital and he doesn't really like me very much right now anyway."

"What happened to him?"

"It looks like someone attacked him."

"He all right?"

"I think so. I haven't heard for an hour or so, but it looks like he'll be fine."

The door closed and Tony waited. After a few seconds, he was rewarded by the sound of the chain lock being removed. Jed opened the door.

"You may as well come inside. Not safe for someone like you to stick around here."

"Thanks."

Tony walked in and found an apartment much like Tim's...but it had the benefits of someone who had obviously lived there for many years. The bathroom had a door. There were pictures on the walls, a table that doubled as a counter, some chairs, a real bed. Jed might not be wealthy, but his apartment looked...comfortable at least, if not fancy or even very nice.

"Have a seat. ...and tell me what you want."

"What do you know about McGee?"

"Not much. He has great taste in music."

"What music?"

"Jazz. Not just any jazz, but the Dixieland revival." Jed smiled. "Any jazz is good, but I love Dixieland. He brings over his record player and we listen to it together."

Tony smiled even as he wondered how it was that Tim had become friends with this man.

"He doesn't talk about himself?"

"No. Lots of people around here don't like probing questions. He has stuff like that in his past...I don't want to know about it, You hear?"

"I worked with him before. He used to be an agent, too."

"Ah. That explains it."

"Explains what?"

Jed just smiled and shook his head. "Nope. I'll keep mum on that. You said you had a question for me."

"Right. Did you know that Tim had a typewriter?"

"Sure. Never saw him use it, but I know he had it. It seemed like something important to him. Never could understand why he decided to sell it. I still think he could have managed without pawning it."

Tony leaned forward eagerly. "So you know when he sold it and where?"

Jed smiled. "And if I did?"

"I'd ask you where."

"And if I happened to know? If I happened to have suggested a good place for Tim to go, suggested a guy I knew?"

"I'd ask you where and who that was."

"And what would you do with that information?"

"I'd go to the pawn shop and try to buy it."

"What if it had already been sold?"

"Then, I'd see if I could track down who bought it and buy it from that guy."

"Why? Why would you do that...Tony?"

"McGee being here is my fault. He quit and...it was kind of because of me...because of some things I said and did."

"And you've decided that getting his typewriter back is what you need to do?"

"No...I don't think there's anything I can do. I don't even know if McGee'll appreciate it at all. ...but I still need to do it. For McGee...writing is important, not just because of his novels. It's important because of who he is."

"And who is he?"

Tony opened his mouth...but then, he stopped and shook his head. "I don't know. I thought I did. I thought I had him pegged, but I didn't and my being wrong...really screwed things up."

"Penance, then?"

"Yeah, maybe."

Jed laughed. "All right. I told Tim where to go to pawn his typewriter...and I might have called my friend and greased the skids a bit. ...and I might have suggested to my friend that he keep the typewriter in the back for a while. ...and I might be able to tell you where and who."

"What will it take for the might to become a certainty?"

Jed leaned forward and looked straight into Tony's eyes. "You promise me that you're not planning on using this to bribe Tim to like you again, that you're not trying to just appease your own guilty conscience. I like Tim. More than that...I owe him. I owe him a lot, and I don't want to see someone use information he got from me to try and play with Tim's feelings. I don't know anything about him, but he strikes me as being a bit overly-sensitive...if you know what I mean. Little things can hurt him, even if he knows they shouldn't."

"I promise. That's not what I'm trying to do. I don't think anything will change how he feels about us. He already told me it was too late to say I was sorry. That was more than a year ago."

"Well, then, I'll tell you. The pawn shop is on the northwest side of DC. Guy who runs it is an old friend of mine." He looked at Tony shrewdly. "You surprised I know someone over in that area?"

Tony wanted to deny it, but he nodded.

"People around here...most of us are dirt poor, but we weren't always...and even those of us who _have_ always been poor...being poor isn't a bad thing on its own. You have enough to live on, that's enough. I never been in debt once in my life. I missed out on some things, maybe I could have had better jobs and such like that, but I never owed a man a dollar I couldn't pay back. That means something to people."

"Means something to me," Tony said, genuinely impressed.

"Good. Erik Golden...great name, isn't it? He runs Golden Pawn over on Connecticut Avenue. Tell him what you're looking for and that I sent you over. I can't promise you that he hasn't put it out, but he did tell me he'd try to keep it back for a while. I don't know how many people really want to collect typewriters, though."

"That's enough," Tony said, standing instantly. "That's way more than enough. Thank you, Jed."

"No problem...but you remember your promise. I might be thirty years older than you, but I still remember how to stand up for my friends."

Tony grimaced. "I think I forgot how to do that, myself. Thanks." He turned toward the door.

"Hey, Fed," Jed said, sitting calmly at his table.

"What?"

"It's never too late to say you're sorry, son. In fact, if it _is_ too late, then saying sorry is even more important than it was before. Just a thought."

Tony gave a half-smile. "Thanks."


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter 17**

Gibbs took a breath before knocking on Tim's door. The two agents who had taken up positions didn't say anything, but they didn't have to. They knew who Tim was and the basics, at least, of what had happened so many months ago.

"Come in."

The voice was low and tentative, not like Tim's usual voice, not like his voice raised in fury or saturated with disdain. Tim was afraid and either lacked the energy to hide or just had decided it wasn't worth trying to hide.

He opened the door and walked in. Tim was lying in the bed, head bandaged, looking...scared. Almost as if he already knew more than Gibbs did about what had happened and _why_ it had happened.

"How are you feeling, McGee?" he asked.

"Fine."

Okay. Nowhere to probe there. Down to business.

"I need to ask you a few questions about what happened today."

"Why? I'm a civilian."

Tim's eyes strayed to the door and then to the windows and then back to Gibbs.

"Because this is not just about a random attack on a civilian. ...but you already know that, don't you."

No response. Just that flicker of his eyes around the room once more. Gibbs was possessed of a desire to slap Tim upside the head and force him to see that this wasn't about his personal breakdown. It was something a lot more serious and his life could be on the line. ...but he mastered the impulse and instead sighed.

"Tell me what you remember."

"I was sleeping. I woke up. Someone was there. He grabbed me. I woke up later, wet."

"That's it?"

Tim looked way. "Yes."

Gibbs sat down beside the bed. "McGee, if a witness had told _you_ that, how would you have reacted?"

No response.

"McGee!"

"You're not doing what I would have done," Tim mumbled. There was no fire in his voice. No anger. No irritation. Not even disdain. Gibbs found that he would prefer Tim spitting mad to this dullness.

"What would you have done?"

Tim looked Gibbs in the eye for a few seconds and then away again.

"McGee?"

"You have all the information you need to know. Just because you don't have the patience to unpack it all isn't my fault."

Gibbs suppressed a smile. That had a glimmer of the old Tim in it.

"You know what we need to hear, McGee. Why not just say it?"

"Why don't you just ask?"

Another glimmer of spirit. Gibbs was glad of it, but he wasn't sure if he should try and get the spirit to grow into something more or if he should just get on with things.

"Who did you see?"

"A man."

Gibbs suddenly decided that the game they were playing wasn't interesting enough to supplant the need to figure out what's going on. He held out the picture of David Collier.

"Is this who you saw?"

Tim instant reaction couldn't be denied. He tensed up and involuntarily shifted away.

"How–?" Then, he realized what he'd given away and stopped talking.

"Is this who you saw, McGee?"

Tim stared at the photo and Gibbs lost his patience.

"I do _not_ have time for this, McGee! Answer me!"

"Yes! Yes, that's who I saw! Are you happy now?" Tim asked, angry. "I answered your question. Do you believe me? Do you _trust_ me or is it something that you're going to go off and find a way to discredit? Is it–?" He stopped speaking suddenly, breathing heavily. He looked away.

"Do you know who this man is?"

Tim shook his head, the fire suddenly gone, like pouring water on a fire.

"What do you know, then? You know something."

"I've...seen him before."

"You have? Where?"

Tim couldn't seem to pull his eyes away from the photo.

"A couple of places. I thought I'd imagined him...the first time."

"The person you thought you saw outside Soft-Tech?"

"How did you know about that?"

"Your friend told me."

"Oh."

"Where else?"

"Outside my apartment. When I went there with Judith to get my stuff."

"When?"

"Two days ago."

"You saw the same man and you didn't worry about it?"

To his surprise, Tim laughed. It was slightly hysterical which also surprised him.

"Why add to what I'm already worrying about? What would be the point of that? Why would I worry about the fact that I'd seen the same man twice when I have a murder on my head, when my breakdown could be grounds for drug dealers getting free, when my friends could be in danger, when my life absolutely _sucks_? Why in the world do you think I would waste my time worrying about seeing one man?"

"And you're sure that this David Collier is the man you saw at Matt Tamson's house?"

"Yes."

"Why didn't he just kill you?"

"Thanks."

Gibbs just rolled his eyes and then met Tim's gaze, widening his eyes inquiringly.

"He wants me to look crazy and off my rocker so that when the drug trial finally starts I'll look incompetent and the evidence I gathered will look unreliable and will have to be tossed out. My testimony won't be worth squat and they'll be that much more likely to get off."

Gibbs blinked. He hadn't thought Tim could possibly surprise him anymore, but he had managed it yet again. Not even Ducky had given him enough credit. Tim was not only aware of why he was a target, he had understood quite thoroughly the possible consequences. His current appearance, the way he was acting, they had lulled Gibbs into thinking that Tim himself had lost all the intelligence he had possessed before. It obviously couldn't be further from the truth...at least in some areas.

"Why hide it, McGee?"

"Why do you know about him?"

"Because he was hired as a private detective...by Antone Grant."

"Who?"

"Antone Grant."

"Oh." Tim licked his lips nervously. "I never did bother caring what their names were. Just another group of people who underestimated me."

"Like us?"

Tim shrugged. That was all. It was clear that he had no desire to get into that.

"You've been mugged three times since you moved to that apartment."

"Yes."

"Why?"

Tim's laugh was short and incredulous.

"I don't know. I didn't ask them why they were mugging me at the time."

"Don't you think it's odd?"

"Unfair, maybe...but I stopped expecting life to be fair a long time ago. If I seem to be a target, I can't really feel any surprise about that."

Gibbs stood up.

"You didn't kill Lance Corporal Smythe."

He turned to leave.

"You told me once that I either had to put the cuffs on myself or else find the person who did it. Why don't you put on the cuffs?"

"Because you're no more guilty now than you were then."

An answer. Finally. "No, I didn't kill him."

Gibbs turned back and was surprised to see tears in Tim's eyes and a horrible smile on his face.

"Life's not fair."

"No, it's not."

Another short laugh. "I just wanted to say that once."

"You haven't before?"

"No."

Gibbs locked eyes with Tim, not looking away. "There are two agents on duty outside your room."

"Okay."

Gibbs considered. His project was done, but was this really the time? ...Eh, why not. What did he have to lose?

"When you're released, there's something I want to show you."

"What?"

"Will you come and see it?"

"Come where?"

"To my place."

A flash of fear and anxiety.

"You don't have to. Just think about it." Then, Gibbs walked out, not waiting for an answer.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"He is all right, Ducky?" Ziva asked again.

"Yes, Ziva. He's fine, physically speaking at least," Ducky said with a smile. "Timothy will fully recover, thanks to the very quick actions of Matt and Judith. The doctors feel no reservation in saying that he will be fine."

"Where _are_ they?"

Ducky sighed. "They are attempting to show their young son that all is well by following their usual routine. Even the closest of friends must place family first. They said they would come back in the morning."

Ziva nodded. "They trust him, Ducky."

"Of course they do. Timothy is a close friend of theirs."

"Why didn't we?"

"I wish I could tell you, my dear. I was not there during the key moments."

"Do you think that this situation is our fault?"

"Timothy being attacked? I highly doubt it. I doubt even that Timothy would try to place this at your feet. No, I think he will blame himself for it and will not even consider the idea that this might be blamed on you."

Gibbs came walking into the waiting room. "Let's go."

"He is all right, Gibbs?" Ziva asked.

"Yeah. More or less. We need to track down Collier. He's been watching McGee for months."

"Months?"

"Yeah. McGee has seen him before and identified him as the man who attacked him."

Ducky was surprised. "He remembered?"

"Yeah."

"He said nothing about regaining his memory to me."

"Don't know what to tell you, Ducky. ...but it's looking like Collier is after McGee _and_ that he could be a suspect in the killing of Lance Corporal Smythe. McGee is officially under NCIS protection until we determine the risk to his safety."

"Does that mean he is no longer a suspect?" Ducky asked.

"Not officially. Can't take him off the list completely...but yeah, Duck," Gibbs said. "He's not a suspect."

"Good. Abigail will be glad to know that as well. She has hated the forced separation."

"I'm sure she has." Gibbs looked at Ziva. "Let's go."

Ziva opened her mouth to protest and then nodded in resignation. "Yes, Gibbs. You are staying, Ducky?"

"For a while. You could try to speak to him if you'd like."

Ziva looked tempted but shook her head. "No. I will wait until the time is right," she said and followed Gibbs out of the waiting room.

Ducky watched them leave and then walked back to Tim's room. Tim was awake, thinking bitter thoughts by the expression on his face.

"Timothy?"

"Hey, Ducky," Tim said, not looking at him.

"You lied to me. I'd like to know why."

"I didn't lie," Tim whispered. "When I said that to you, I _did_ think it was Jewel."

"And yet you made no effort to disabuse me of that notion. When did you remember it was this man?"

Tim looked down. "I could have told you."

"Why didn't you?"

"I didn't want to."

"Why not?"

Tim looked up. "Were you wondering if I was losing it again?"

"Why do you ask?"

"Were you?"

"The thought had crossed my mind."

"That's why I didn't tell you. I was hoping that if I kept it up, I could get put away again. Ducky...I'm a coward. I'm a wuss. I want it to be easy...but it's not. Nothing is easy! Things that I used to do automatically, things I used to enjoy...things I used to say...none of it is easy anymore! I see one of...of _them_ and I want to hide. I see one of them and I...I'm afraid."

"They won't hurt you, Timothy."

"I'm not afraid of _them_. I'm afraid of...of something else happening that...that makes me into what I was."

"Timothy."

"Ducky, you don't know what it was like...feeling that way. You don't know. I was...was totally out of control. I could see what I was doing. I knew it was wrong...but I couldn't stop doing it. I didn't _want_ to!" Tim shook his head. "I don't want that again. I don't...and if I...I see them again. If I have to...to talk to them, listen to them..."

Ducky sat on the bed and grabbed Tim by the shoulders.

"Timothy, you had a _choice_! Yes, it was a choice confined by the actions of others, but you yourself must take some responsibility...and I don't mean that you should beat yourself up about what you did and what you chose. I simply mean that you need to accept that it was something you chose, not something that was forced upon you, not something inevitable. You chose to be angry. You chose to let that anger take the place of your reason. I understand why you chose what you did, but that doesn't remove the fact that it was a choice. How many times in the years since your university experiences did you let the things people say roll off you? How many times did you refuse to let the easy anger take precedence over everything else? How many times did you know when to hit back and when to keep silent? That was a choice every single time. You have a choice now. The problem is that you're refusing to make that choice and it's becoming your monster in the closet, the thing you fear most. In refusing to make a choice, you are making another choice, and you can't keep it up!"

"Why not?"

"Because look at what's happening! Life is forcing your hand! The people you wish to avoid have come back into your life, not because they are seeking you out but because circumstances have demanded it! You can't avoid this, Timothy, and if you approach feeling that you will be destroyed by the mere act of interacting with them, then you are condemning yourself to failure. It will not be their fault this time."

Tim turned his head away from Ducky and stared at the floor.

"You can't get away from this, Timothy. Hiding will only make it worse because you'll know that you postponed it. You can't avoid the damage that can come from your lack of action. You will _never_ get back to who you were before all this began if you can't...as they say _suck it up_ and do what needs to be done."

Tim still didn't look at him, but Ducky was surprised when he laughed.

"What's so funny?"

"You...saying _suck it up_. It just doesn't work, Ducky. You're...too British."

Ducky had to smile. "I'm Scottish."

"Either way."

"You think that the British Isles does not possess the ability to curse effectively?"

"Curse, yes. Slang? No." Tim took a breath and coughed, his lungs still slightly inflamed by his experience. "Ducky..."

"What, lad?"

"I don't know how to...to be normal around them. I barely can be normal around _anyone_."

"Then, don't try to be. Just do what you know has to be done. I think you'll find it easier to be 'normal' when you're not worried about being normal."

"I screwed up my life once, Ducky. Really screwed it up. I nearly killed myself. I don't want to do that again."

"Then, don't," Ducky said firmly.

"It's not that easy."

"No, but it's not as difficult as _you_ think it is. How many times has Dr. Lewis tried to urge you to brave the real world, something you are still avoiding?"

"Lots."

"Exactly."

"I tried that. I can't go back."

"Your first attempt to come back into the workforce was negative, but it did _not_ have to be the end of it. I still think that you should have tried places where you already had connections."

"It wouldn't have worked."

"It may have. It may not have, but you didn't even _try_ to see if it would. That is the problem, Timothy. _That_ is the real obstacle. Your own mind is what is keeping you from succeeding."

"I'm tired, Ducky."

"Then, rest until tomorrow, but don't think that even sleep will be an escape for you."

"I don't. Sleep only makes things worse."

"Not sleeping is infinitely worse."

"I know."

"Would you like me to stay?"

"No. I need to...to think. Alone."

Ducky studied the dejected young man in front of him, and was strangely heartened by what he saw. There was something different in Tim's expression. It was not much and indefinable at this point, but it was something. Ducky could only hope that there would be something to help Tim see the truth.

"Good night, lad."

"I hope so."

"As do I." Ducky stood up and left the room.


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter 18**

Tim didn't sleep much that night. ...but for once, it wasn't because he was having nightmares. It was because he was thinking, thinking about what Ducky had said to him, thinking about all the terrifying things that were circulating around him.

...and yet, it wasn't David Collier or Antone Grant who frightened him the most. It was...

"Me. I'm the most frightening part of this equation."

Sometimes, when he looked at himself, he felt as though he was looking at a stranger. What had happened to the person he had always thought of as Timothy McGee? Where had he gone? What was left in his place was a wet noodle.

As the sun rose the next morning, Tim was still awake, watching it. He never spent much time watching the sun. He had too much to worry about from financial woes to his mental health, to do something so worthless as watching the sun come up.

...but he was watching it now. He was waiting. Unlike at his apartment, he wasn't waiting for it to be safe to leave. He was waiting for it to be late enough to make a call. He'd made a decision that, quite frankly, terrified him, but he felt that it was the best, perhaps the only option. Maybe Ducky was right. Maybe he _did_ need to try making a real choice rather than hiding. He knew that was what he'd been doing...and to some extent, he felt that he'd needed that time, even if it had led to his injuries, his fear.

No place in the world was really safe. ...but hadn't that _always_ been the case? Everywhere he had gone, someone was injured, someone had attacked, someone had been lost...something. His father's injuries and subsequent dismissal from the Navy. His own bullying in high school. His car accident. His missteps at MIT which had led to his being ostracized. Every place he had lived carried its share of heartache...and outright injury.

It had always been that way...so why was it such a big deal _now_? Tim couldn't explain that, not even to himself. He knew that it _shouldn't_ be a big deal, but it was. Every bit of his life that he couldn't anticipate or control was a part of his life that was dangerous and should be eliminated. _He_ had to control it. Not even the people he trusted could aid in that control. It was all about what Timothy McGee could control.

The sun dazzled him as he watched its rising and he had to blink and look away.

_I can't control the sun,_ Tim thought wryly. _...but then I know exactly what the sun is going to do...and could know for years in advance if I put my mind to it._

No, Tim knew that he couldn't let what he _wanted_ take the place of what was _needed_. What he _wanted_ was for everything to be easy again, easy like it had been before when he hadn't needed to try to decide how he should react in a given situation. He had just reacted and gone on with things. That's what he wanted. However, he knew that he needed to face down all these hard things, hard situations...and face down all the people he wanted so desperately to avoid.

Who was the person that caused him the most trouble right now? ...well, besides himself, that is.

There was only one choice...

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Erik Golden arrived at his shop early in the morning. He usually had to clean up junk people left at his front door and he had to get rid of the guys who wanted to pawn stolen or fake merchandise before the law-abiding customers came. Pawn shops had bad reputations because of how some people ran them, and he was determined not to be associated with those kinds of places. His shop was completely aboveboard and he intended to keep it that way.

So when he saw a well-dressed man standing by the entrance to his shop, he figured he'd have to get him moving. He was always very polite about it, never making trouble unless they asked for it.

"Good morning," he said pleasantly. "There are rules about loitering."

The man smiled. "I'm not loitering. Just waiting for the shop to open."

"Well, I run the place."

"You're Golden, then?" the man asked.

"Everything I touch," Erik returned and unlocked the door.

The man followed him inside, not asking if he could. Clearly, this was a guy who was accustomed to getting in anywhere. That could mean a few things. At worst, it could mean big trouble if this was a guy who didn't know how to hear the word _no_. At best, it could be an undercover cop hoping to track down something stolen.

Erik walked back to the counter and then looked at the man who was standing patiently, now a bit uncomfortable.

Erik watched him warily for a few seconds and then made his decision.

"I run a clean place here. I don't buy, sell or trade stolen merchandise. If that's what you're here for, you can clear out. I have to go into the back and get things ready for the day. If you're gone when I come into the front again, I won't remember who you are. If you're here to rob me or rough me up or something, I'd like to draw your attention to the security cameras. If you're here to do legitimate business...well, you can wait until I'm good and ready for it."

Having said his piece, Erik went back to organize goods that were coming to the end of their contracts. If the owners didn't come back to pay for their goods, he'd put them out front to sell. Many of his customers did come back, but some never did. He had a good line of buying and selling used items, but a lot of his income came from people who pawned an item and never came back to reclaim it. He had a good stock of jewelry, mostly gold, that he was amassing to sell in bulk to one of the bulk gold dealers. He wasn't rolling in the dough, but he had a good thing going and wasn't about to let _anyone_ ruin that for him.

After half an hour, he decided he'd given the man out front enough time to reconsider and he headed back to the counter. The man was still there.

"So you stayed. What do you want? Buying? Selling? Pawning?"

"Buying...I hope."

Interested, Erik looked at him. "You must have something specific in mind. What is it?"

"A friend of mine sold an old typewriter here a few months ago. I was hoping that you still had it in the back or somewhere in this...chaos," the man said, waving his arm around the shop.

"I might. Why isn't your..._friend_ here doing it?"

"He doesn't know I'm here. I had to ask Jed where he sold it."

Instantly, Erik relaxed. "Jed sent you here?"

"Yeah. Asked him last night."

"So if I called him to verify–?"

The man pulled out a phone. "You want to check? Go ahead."

"I don't normally ask people why they want to buy something. I usually just sell it...but..." Erik smiled. "Why do you want to buy it?"

"Why does it matter?"

"Because...the guy who sold me that typewriter looked heartbroken about selling it. ...and because he did something for Jed that...well, that not many people would do."

"What did he do?"

Now, Erik hesitated. The man seemed earnest and Erik generally counted himself as a good judge of character, but still...

"Who are you?" he asked.

"Name's Tony."

"You a cop?"

"When I'm at work. That's not why I'm here."

Erik grinned. He was glad to have one of his suspicions verified.

"So you're here because–?"

"Because...Tim McGee...the guy who sold you the typewriter...he used to work with me. We used to be friends. It's a long story. I'm trying to get the typewriter back for him. If you've got it, I'll pay whatever you want for it. If you've sold it, I'll...probably beg you to let me know who bought it."

"Couldn't do that. It's illegal. I'd lose customers if something like that ever got out. It'd be a violation of privacy."

"I'd still beg."

Erik rolled his eyes. This man was probably at least forty years old, but he sure wasn't acting like it.

"What did McGee do for Jed?"

"Nothing that most people would consider heroic. He himself probably didn't, but Jed remembers it...and Jed and I have been friends for twenty years. If Jed remembers it, so do I."

"Do you have the typewriter?" Tony asked. "Please?"

Erik leaned on the counter and stared at Tony for a long moment.

"You aren't getting it for free."

"I don't care! If you have it, I'll pay for it. Mark it up 200 percent! I'll pay it!"

Erik chuckled. "I couldn't do that. It'd be bad for business. Wait here."

He went into the back room again and headed for his private office. Inside, there wasn't much to see. A desk with his work computer. A lamp. Shelves of books. Filing cabinets.

...and an old-fashioned typewriter. Actually, if you didn't know the typewriter was there, you wouldn't see it. Erik kept it under a protective cloth. He didn't know much about typewriters beyond that he was glad the computer had been invented and they could move on from the typewriters to keyboards. This one was, however, in mint condition. Tim had taken very good care of it and it deserved to be cared for in the same way. He'd always hoped that Tim would come back and try to get it...but even when he'd seen him, there had been something about Tim that said it would never happen. Tim _wanted_ his typewriter but he'd never come for it. Even so, Erik had kept it...mostly because Jed had asked him to. Now, he pulled it off the filing cabinet and lugged it out to the counter.

"It'll cost you $400," he said.

"You gave McGee 400 bucks for this?" Tony asked.

Erik couldn't tell if Tony's incredulity meant it was too high or too low.

"No, I didn't. It's going to cost _you_ $400. You ready to pay?"

"You take Visa?"

"Visa, MasterCard, American Express. Heck, I'll even take Discover."

"Great. Versatile," Tony said, pulling out his wallet.

"Have to be in my business."

"I guess so." He handed over the card. Erik swiped it and gave it back.

"Painless?"

"Until I get my credit card bill."

"Worth it?"

"Yes." Tony picked up the typewriter. "Man, that's heavier than I thought it was."

"Deceptive things. Don't drop it."

"I won't." Tony started leave but then he turned back. "McGee probably won't really appreciate this...since it's coming from me, but thank you."

"Why is this so important to you?"

"I'm trying to make up for some past mistakes...past idiocy. This won't fix it, but it might help."

"Good luck to you, then. What if Tim comes in here and wants his typewriter back?"

"Tell him I have it...but he won't come back for it."

Erik was surprised that Tony had the same view as he did on Tim's interest in the old typewriter. As he left the store, Erik wondered just what had happened to make this worth it.

"First time I ever lost money on something," he said aloud. Then, he chuckled. "Jed owes me big time."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Ziva chuckled at the mewing sound coming from her spare bedroom. She'd never tell Jamie, but after handing off the kitten she'd chosen from Brian Moore, she'd found that she wanted one for herself and had gone back after hours to pick another from his herd. He had been so happy to get another kitten off his hands that he'd given her the same supplies he'd given to her before. This one was black from head to toe...with the exception of the tips of her ears and the very tip of her tail. They were white. ...and then there was the adorable pink tongue. Ziva loved her and had decided to name her Lailie.

It was a good thing Lailie was a cat and not a dog because Ziva knew that she couldn't be here as much as a puppy would require, but cats took care of themselves...to the extent that they could. That was the kind of pet Ziva needed.

As she hurried in her preparations for work, Lailie came out of the spare room and began curling herself around Ziva's legs.

"Oh, you," Ziva said with a smile and picked up her kitten. "I must get to work. You will make me late."

Lailie's bright pink tongue poked out of her mouth and touched Ziva's nose. Ziva laughed and put her down.

"I will not let you distract me, Lailie."

She quickly finished getting ready, made sure there was plenty of food available and headed out the door. As she got into her car, she was suddenly struck by a thought...one that she had firmly tried to keep herself from thinking.

_I would love to let Tim see her._

Ziva's heart twisted as she thought of Tim's recent past. Maybe there would be a way. Maybe she shouldn't give up hope. Maybe.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim chickened out on making the call he needed to make. Waited too long and then it was too late to call. So...he made another call. It was to a person he didn't know very well...and really hadn't ever spoken to when he was in his right mind, but he thought that it might be the best option for the moment.

For once, he didn't think about the cost. He didn't think about the idiocy of his actions. He didn't think about anything but getting it done.

"_Oaks residence." _

The female voice gave Tim pause. He hadn't expected a female to answer.

"Uh...is..." His courage, already in short supply, began to fail him.

"_You want to speak to my father?" _

"Yes...that's it... I mean, yes, thank you. Is he...there?"

"_Yes, he's here. Whom may I say is calling?"_

"Tim...McGee."

"_All right. I'll tell him."_

Tim chewed on his lower lip while he waited.

"_Timothy McGee?"_

"Hi. James."

"_It's nice to hear from you, but what's the occasion?"_

"I...I wanted to ask you something."

"_All right. Go on then."_

"Um...I don't really...really know how to put it into words."

"_I'm afraid I can't help you with that unless I know what it is that you're thinking of."_

"Why am I still so afraid?"

"_Depends on _what_ you're afraid of."_

"I don't want to go back."

"_Where?"_

"To them."

"_Them being–?"_

"The people I used to work with. Every time I see them...my stomach ties up in knots. I just want to get away. It's been over a year. Why am I still like this?"

"_What does your therapist say? You are still having sessions with him?"_

"He says I need to talk to them, that I can't get past this without talking to them...but _why_ am I still afraid of them?"

"_Why do you think I'll know?"_

"Because...you were right about me last year."

James laughed lightly. _"I'm flattered."_

"Please? You have a lot of experience with this stuff. I've been doing things right before. Why can't I now?"

"_Probably because you don't want to."_

"I want to be back to normal."

"_Sure, but you don't want to risk it."_

"Risk what?"

"_Giving up the control you have over your own life. If you talk to them, you have to risk not knowing what they'll say, what they'll do. You can't know...and let me guess: You've got your life pretty well controlled, haven't you?"_

"I guess."

"_You have a job?"_

"I do right now, but it's only temporary."

"_And so are you living in your own place?"_

"Yeah. It's crappy, but it works."

"_And you have your day all planned out?"_

"Everyone does that."

"_That's not what I mean, Timothy."_

"Yes."

"_You're not ready to let go of controlling your life. Until you can do that...you'll be afraid of your team because you know that you can't control them."_

Tim sighed. "How do I do that?"

"_That I can't tell you. You just have to try it...and see if you can."_

"What if I can't?"

"_You'll never know unless you try...and considering how much you've done before, I fairly certain you can do it again...if you try it. If you risk it."_

Tim took a deep breath.

"_You already know all this, don't you. You've already decided that." _

"I don't..."

"_...want to do it? Of course, you don't. Taking those kinds of steps is frightening. ...but you have a lot to gain if you do. From what Don told me, you were fairly scared of leaving the hospital when it came time for that."_

"Yeah. I was. I still wish I was there sometimes."

"_It's all about control, Timothy. You need it...or rather you _think_ you need it. In reality, none of us can control our environments, not to the degree you think you should. You let yourself get into that mindset...it's hard to break out of it, but you should make the effort."_

"Dr. Lewis never put it like that."

"_Dr. Lewis is more than likely a skilled psychiatrist...but he's never been undercover."_

Tim smiled.

"_Now, Timothy, do what you already planned on doing before you called me. Do it secure in the knowledge that it's the right step to take. Do it even though you might not be able to handle it right the first time. Just do it and don't put it off. You won't feel ready, but you never will."_

"Thanks, James. I never did thank you for everything you did. It can't have been fun."

"_No, it wasn't, but it was worth it. ...as I told you it was before."_

"You sure about that?"

"_Positive."_

Tim said his good-byes and then sat quietly on the bed. When the doctor came in to check on him, he was pleased with Tim's physical status and arranged for him to be released later than morning. Matt and Judith picked him up and took him back to their home. When they got back, Chris sat himself on Tim's lap and refused to move...so he was sitting there when Tim explained what he wanted to do and asked for a ride. Both Matt and Judith were unsure about the idea but they agreed. Matt insisted on driving Tim over after dinner. Tim agreed.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Tim, are you sure about this?" Matt asked as they waited in the car.

"No."

"Do you _want_ to do this?"

"No."

"Then, why are you doing it?"

"Because I have to. If I don't do it now...now when I'm...when I might be able to do it...I never will. It has to be now. Now or never."

"I'd almost be happy with never."

"So would I...but I've been relying on _almost_ for too long. I need to stop that."

A car pulled into the driveway.

"Wait in the car, please," Tim said.

"You need anything, just holler and I'll be there guns blazing."

"It won't be necessary."

"Just in case."

Tim smiled and got out of the car.


	19. Chapter 19

**Chapter 19**

"Hi," Tim said. He tried to say the name but it stuck in his throat.

Gibbs stopped midstride and looked surprised to see him.

"How...are things going?" Tim asked lamely. "...with the case?"

"They're going," Gibbs said. "Didn't expect to see you here."

"Didn't expect to be here."

"Your attack dog coming in?"

"No. He's staying in the car. He just insisted on bringing me over."

Gibbs waved at Matt and Tim felt a sudden urge run back to the car and try another day...but he knew what would happen if he did that. He'd never have the courage to go back again. He knew it...but he was still tempted. What was so important about talking to Gibbs? Was it really so important?

_You know it is. Show some backbone, wimp!_

"You coming in?" Gibbs asked.

Tim stiffened. He took one step backward and stopped.

"Yes. I'm coming in."

"Come on, then." Gibbs walked to the front door and opened it. "You could have gone inside. It's never locked."

"Yeah, I know." Tim followed. He hadn't really been in Gibbs' house much. During the internal investigation, he'd come over...a couple of other times. That was it...and he'd never wanted to come in less than he did now. He looked back over his shoulder at Matt and shrugged before stepping inside.

Gibbs walked into the living room and then looked at him expectantly.

"Well?" he asked.

Tim really didn't know what to say. His brain seemed locked and he couldn't think of what was needed.

Strangely, Gibbs suddenly took pity on him.

"You want some coffee?"

"Sure."

"Okay. Have a seat." Gibbs walked into the kitchen, and Tim sat on the couch, feeling awkward.

He didn't say anything while Gibbs was in the kitchen.

_Why are you here? What do you think you're going to accomplish, Tim? What's the point? Is this some sort of magic solution to your idiocy? How is this going to help?_

He stood up, convinced now that he'd made a huge mistake. He could just sneak out of the house and...

Gibbs came back into the room with two coffee mugs.

"Going somewhere?" he asked.

Tim sat down again quickly. "No."

Gibbs smiled and sat down across from him, handing him one of the mugs.

"Thanks," Tim said and sipped to cover up his intentions. He got the feeling Gibbs had known exactly what he was trying to do.

"So...what are you doing here?"

Tim sipped and tried to answer at the same time...and began choking on the coffee. He coughed. Gibbs moved over beside him and thumped him on the back, simultaneously rescuing the coffee from Tim's grasp before it spilled. Tim edged away from him while trying to stop coughing.

"I'm not going to hurt you, McGee."

"I... _cough_... know..._cough_..."

"Then, stop flinching!" Gibbs said. "What are you here for?"

"You said you had something to show me. What is it?"

Gibbs looked at him for a long moment and then nodded. He stood up, grabbing his cup of coffee in the process.

"Come on."

"What is it?"

"Come and see. In the basement."

Tim stood up and followed Gibbs to the basement. Down the steps and then he stopped and stared. He could see what Gibbs must have brought him down for. It couldn't be anything else...but still...

"What are you showing me?" he asked, unable to believe it.

Gibbs nodded toward it.

"That."

Tim stared at it.

"Where did you get it?"

"I made it. Took me about a year to figure it all out."

"A year?"

"Never worked with metal before. The wood was different, a lot harder than what I use usually, and I didn't use any plans. It's a bit different from making boats."

"Why are you showing it to me?"

"I made it for you."

Tim stared again...and then walked over to it.

"The chair, too?"

"Yep."

It was a desk. It was, quite possibly, the most beautiful desk Tim had ever seen. The wood was dark, almost black, smooth and polished. It had three drawers on each side and one narrow drawer in the center. The accent for the desk was what looked like burnished copper. A strip ran around the edge of the desk and marked out the central space. Each drawer was accented with it. The chair was as well. It had a leather padded seat, but was constructed out of the same dark wood as the desk.

It was a desk...and it was amazing. There was no way it was _just_ a desk. That adjective didn't fit with this. It was a work of art more than a piece of furniture. Tim stared for a long time, reached out once to see just how smooth it was...but then drew back, afraid of what that would mean...if he touched it, if he allowed himself to get anywhere near it.

Gibbs didn't say anything. He just sat on the steps, sipping at his coffee. Tim tried to think of something to say, something to break the silence...to break the spell the desk had somehow cast over him.

"You...made...this..."

"For you."

"Why?"

"Seemed like a good idea."

"Why?"

Gibbs got up, walked to the corner and grabbed an ax. He carried it over and set on top of the desk. Tim almost reached out to stop him from denting the top...but he didn't actually move.

"So you could break it if you wanted to."

"What?"

"It's yours. I made it for you. If you want to break it, destroy it, burn it, chop it up into tiny pieces, you can. There's the ax."

"Why would I do that?"

"I don't know."

Tim hadn't looked away from the desk once since he'd seen it...but he looked now.

"Are you trying to turn this into some sort of metaphor?"

Gibbs smiled. "Are you?"

"You're the one who said I could break it if I wanted to. Why do you think I'd want to?"

"You seemed angry enough at me the last time we talked at any length to do something like that."

"That was a year and a half ago."

"And yet you're still afraid of me, you can't even say our _names_, McGee...and don't think I haven't noticed."

Tim shrugged.

"No. You came here. You had a reason, just like I had reason for asking you. You can't get away with just shrugging. What do you think I'm going to do to you?"

"Nothing."

"Then, why are you afraid?"

Tim looked back at the desk. "Because of things like this," he said.

"Like what?"

"I would never have guessed this. Never in a million years. Not once would I think that your response to my quitting would be to build a desk...for me."

"I never thought your response to our mistakes would be to blame us for everything that went wrong."

Tim looked at the desk, at the ax laying on top of it. He wanted to put the ax on the floor, but he couldn't seem to make himself move.

"'The weed of crime bears bitter fruit.'"

"You think we committed a crime?"

"No."

"Then, why did you put that on my computer? It's still there, by the way."

"Why?"

"I don't know how to change it."

"You could ask."

"Yeah, I could."

"But you haven't."

"No."

"Then, you haven't got it. You don't understand. You really don't understand."

"What is there to understand? You were mad and you expressed it that way."

"Yeah. I was mad."

"You're not now?"

"I don't know. I don't know how I feel...but I know that, if you still have that wallpaper on your computer screen, you haven't learned anything. Making this desk hasn't taught you anything."

"What should it have taught me, McGee?"

Anger, stronger than anything he'd felt in months, stronger even than what he'd felt about Lance Corporal Smythe, surged through him. ...the emotion frightened him and he squashed it down without speaking although his hands clenched into fists. He didn't want to feel that again. It was that emotion that had almost destroyed him.

"Well, McGee?"

"Shut up," Tim whispered.

"You're mad."

"No."

"Yes, you are. Why deny it?"

"Stop it. I'm not."

"Of course you are. I'm apparently too obtuse to understand whatever lesson you were trying to teach me. So...what?"

"Nothing. Knock it off."

"No," Gibbs said. "You're mad. _Be_ mad. Tell me what it was I was supposed to learn from this thing you decided to do. Tell me, McGee. Why hide it? You have no reason to."

"Yes, I do!" Tim said, his voice rising briefly before he tamped down on the anger again. "Yes, I do. Leave me alone."

"No. Not until you explain."

He tried to resist the anger. He tried to stay calm, but with Gibbs hounding him, he couldn't. Tim spun around and shouted at the top of his lungs.

"_Why didn't you ever bother to ask?_"

Gibbs stared at him and said nothing.

Tim breathed heavily and swallowed, continuing in a calmer vein. "It would have taken one minute of your time. It would have taken one of you, just one. One person. One question. I was so nervous in the beginning that I would have told you everything...if only you'd asked. You would have known the huge mistake I made. You would have been able to tell me that it _was_ a mistake. You would have been able to stop me before it started. You would have been able to...to _help_ me. I would have told you. I would have told any one of you. As much as I knew that you resented me, resented my assignment, hated that I was chosen...I _wanted_ someone to care. I never thought that your first reactions would be to question everything about the assignment, to make me feel like I'd done something wrong...just by being selected, something I never asked for. I did _not_ deserve how you treated me. I didn't _deserve_ that! I deserved a team who cared enough to ask...and none of you did, not once in eight months. Not _once_!"

"Would it have made a difference?"

Tim laughed. "We'll never know. It's been eighteen months since the end of the op. We can't go back. _I_ can't go back and take back all those things I did while undercover. I can't take back the mistakes I made. I can't take back the lives I've ruined and ended. I can't take any of it back. Neither can you."

"Never said I could."

"I know. You never said anything much," Tim said bitterly. "Just like now. You're not saying anything. Not to me. ...but then, you never did. You can't be troubled to ask to get rid of the wallpaper. You can't be troubled to ask what's going on. If you don't know it, it's not worth knowing."

"What is it that you're wanting, then?"

Tim turned back to the desk and didn't answer.

After a few minutes, Gibbs walked to the stairs.

"I'll let you decide what you want to do with it."

He left the basement without another word.

Tim sighed as Gibbs left. The desk was beautiful...but completely inappropriate for his life as it now stood. He had no space for it. He had no use for it. It was like...like giving a Rolls Royce to a blind man. Sure, it was an amazing and expensive car, but how was the blind guy going to drive it? What good would it do him?

However, Tim could no more take the ax to it than he could take the ax to his own limbs. This desk was a beautiful work of art, something that should be admired.

_He made this for me. Why?_

Tim wanted to know the real reason for it. There was more to it than just the idea of letting Tim destroy it. There had to be. Gibbs was too pragmatic for that. He wouldn't make a desk just to let it get destroyed. It might end _up_ getting destroyed, but that's not why he'd make a desk. Tim turned around, still breathing heavily, still angry, and ran up the steps. Gibbs was in the backyard. Tim stormed out to the patio.

"Why, G-G-Gibbs?" Tim said, stuttering over the name he'd not spoken in over a year. "Why did you do this? Why? There's a reason and you n-need to...to _say_ it!"

Gibbs looked at him with little expression, perhaps a slight smile...which only served to make Tim more angry at him.

"This isn't a joke!" he said. "This isn't funny! You spent a year making that...that desk! It's not just because you wanted to let me break it. _Why?_"

"Why don't you want to get mad?"

"I asked you first," Tim said.

"Why are you afraid of saying my name?"

"I asked you first," Tim repeated. "I'm not going to just answer what questions you have. That's not why I came."

"Then, why did you?" Gibbs asked.

"Because you told me you had something to show me."

"That's not why you came. That's a convenient excuse."

"Why?" Tim asked. "Why did you make that desk? For me."

"Why did you come here?"

"Stop refusing to answer!" Tim shouted. "Stop turning this into some sort of contest! Just tell me!"

Impasse. The smile was gone from Gibbs' face, and Tim felt the overpowering desire to run away. He took a step back toward the house.

"Why are you afraid of me, McGee?" Gibbs asked slowly. "Why is my building a desk something that terrifies you?"

"It's not the desk," Tim said.

"Then, what is it?"

"You answer my question first."

"I wanted to understand how you felt."

That, more than any other answer Gibbs could have given, threw Tim for a loop. He backed up to the steps and sat down.

"What do you mean?"

Finally, the deliberate antagonism vanished. Gibbs walked over and sat down, not too close to him.

"You did something and felt as though no one cared about what you were doing, how well you were doing it or what you sacrificed to do it."

"And building a desk is the same?"

"No. No, it was about understanding the likely possibility that you would still resent me enough to despise the work I did. Knowing that your reaction to what I built could be something along the lines of wanting to take an ax to anything I did...simply because it was me doing it."

Tim couldn't say anything to that.

"Why are you afraid of me?"

"Lots of reasons."

"Lots?" Gibbs actually sounded surprised. "Such as?"

"You make me mad."

"What's wrong with that? You didn't seem to mind that before."

"I know!" Tim said loudly and stood up. "That's the problem! Don't you see?" He looked at Gibbs who was sitting where he was. "I let myself get so angry that I almost _died_...and I didn't care! I didn't care who I hurt! Whether it was me or anyone else. I wouldn't have felt guilty if I had killed _you_! I nearly destroyed myself just because I let myself get angry and didn't let go! I never..." Tim turned away, ashamed of himself. "I never want to feel that again. Ever."

Again, there was silence. It lasted long enough that Tim chanced turning back around.

"And you can't even say our names? You still that angry?"

"No. I'm still that afraid. Anger doesn't last as long as fear does."

"You still seemed to be pretty angry."

Tim shook his head, even as his mind agreed.

Now, Gibbs chuckled. "Yeah, you are. You wouldn't be yelling at me if you weren't still mad."

"Do you regret it at all?" Tim asked...and then had to look away, not wanting to know...not really.

"Regret what?"

Tim couldn't ask again. His courage utterly failed him. "Never mind." Tim looked Gibbs in the eye. "It's a lovely desk. ...but it doesn't fit in my life anymore. It means nothing to who I am now."

He started to walk away.

"I regret that," Gibbs said softly.

"What?"

"I regret that, McGee."

Tim turned around. "What do you regret?"

"That you've given up so much of who you are...just because you're afraid."

"I haven't given up that much."

Gibbs stood up and walked over to him. Tim backed away...but Gibbs didn't let him this time.

"Either you're lying or you can't see it, McGee. You can't even have a conversation with people you know. You can't even say our _names_ out of fear. You gave up a hobby that was important to you. You gave up a job you loved. You gave up any feeling of ambition. You gave up having everything that makes life worth living...because you're afraid. I remember the look on your face when you found out your gun was the murder weapon. You couldn't have been more afraid than if you had been guilty of the crime. Have you done one single thing without planning it first in the last year? Have you taken one chance?"

Tim kept silent this time.

"That's what I thought," Gibbs said, now derisive. "You've lost a lot more than a desk, McGee. You've lost yourself...only instead of losing it, you're trying to suppress it."

"You don't know what it's like!" Tim said, goaded into speech. "You don't understand."

"Then, tell me."

If Tim had been thinking a bit more, he would have realized that Gibbs was intentionally provoking him...but he didn't think.

"The first time I went to an interview for a new job, the man interviewing me look at me like I had a contagious disease when he found out what I'd done, what had happened...where I'd been. The second interview, the man outright asked me if the rumor he'd heard was true. After that, it seemed as though every interview I managed to get was scuttled by what I'd done. I go to sleep every night knowing that I'll likely have at least one nightmare about Jewel. I wake up every morning knowing that it's dangerous to leave my apartment until the sun is up. I live paycheck to paycheck. ...but somehow...somehow living like this is easier than what I was trying to do before. ...because living like this means that I don't have to worry about going crazy again. Living like this means that..."

"That what?"

"That I don't have to look at myself in the mirror and despise what I see."

"Why would you?"

Tim felt as though every bit of strength he had seeped out of him. What was the point in trying to hide it any longer? It wasn't as though he presented a very impressive figure. He stumbled back to the steps and sat down, hanging his head.

"...because everything you've said is true. ...but it's the only choice I have. I thought I could get my life back together. I thought I could move on. I can't. I can't move on. I can't."

Gibbs sat down beside him. "Why not?"

"Because I gave up everything I was long before all this. I gave it up during that undercover mission. I gave it up when I killed Jewel." Tim looked over at Gibbs, perversely wanting to see the revulsion Gibbs would no doubt feel when he knew. "In my dreams, she's always whispering that I'm just like her. Always in my ear, always telling me that we're no different. ...and she's right."

Gibbs said nothing. He just waited.

"I didn't kill Jewel because I had to. I killed her because I wanted to. I'm a murderer, Gibbs. I've already destroyed who I am. I just didn't realize it before."


	20. Chapter 20

**Chapter 20**

Gibbs didn't show it, didn't even flinch, but he was shocked by what Tim said. ...and finally, he was understanding _some_ of what had driven Tim's anger, his fear, his hatred and self-loathing. In his estimation, he had destroyed himself to save them and had received no thanks for his sacrifice. ...and the fact that Tim had hated them as much as he did and yet still had saved their lives hit him much harder than he had expected it to. He didn't agree with Tim's summation, but he now was understanding why the anger hadn't faded, why the fear was still there, why Tim could feel such hatred. His life was irredeemably lost to him and no one seemed to care.

"What? Nothing to say?" Tim asked, his voice saturated with bitterness and resignation. He looked down at the ground. "No clever quip? No blame? No suggestion that I brought this on myself? Nothing?"

What Gibbs did see was that he needed to say _something_, but for once, he didn't know what that was. Staying silent at this point would be disastrous because Tim would assume the worst. He already _had_ assumed the worst both about himself and about others.

"Ducky knows...sort of. ...and for some reason, he hasn't given up on me. I don't know why. Maybe he just doesn't actually understand. Maybe he's just being nice."

"I doubt it." Gibbs took a breath and decided to try...try to do something he should have done a long time ago. "Tell me, McGee."

"Tell you what?"

"What happened while you were undercover?"

"It's a day late and a dollar short for that," Tim said. "You've read my report. It was very thorough. I didn't hold anything back. I didn't lie."

"That's not what I'm asking about, and I know it's too late for anything to change."

"Then, why bother? It's not going to come up in the trial. She was armed. It looks like everything was being done according to procedure. There's no point in bringing it up at all."

"Yes, there is."

"What point is there?"

"The same reason I built that desk. I want to understand."

"We don't always get what we want."

"I know that."

"But you want me to trot out everything that happened just so _you_ can finally try to understand? Eighteenth months after it all happened?"

"Yes."

Tim looked at him in surprise. His easy agreement must not have been what he was expecting.

"This isn't just for my sake, though, McGee. I think you're wrong."

"About what?"

"About why you killed Jewel."

"Well, what do _you_ know? You weren't there. You didn't see it happen. How could you know?" Tim asked, angry. "What makes you some sort of tower of insight?"

"I'm not. That's why I want to know...instead of only thinking."

Tim stood up, and he looked like he was going to leave. Obviously, this was not something he wanted to talk about, and it was clear that he didn't trust Gibbs. Tim didn't think that Gibbs could help or that he would expend himself enough to try. This called for something more than any sort of brevity. Gibbs knew he couldn't go his normal route and just let the person having trouble talk. Tim didn't trust him enough to talk. Gibbs knew that he was the one who had to make the effort to start fixing this...only, he didn't know if it was possible after so long. All he knew was that Tim's problems were not something he could ignore anymore. He'd let them lie for much too long.

He'd become so used to the eyes staring at him that he'd forgotten to whom they belonged...and why they were there.

"It wasn't your fault that Erin Kendall was killed."

Tim stopped mid-step. He didn't turn back around but he stopped walking.

"You reacted as you should have when you fired at Benedict...and even if you did kill him, it wasn't your fault."

Still no response. No _overt_ response at any rate.

"I was wrong to punish you when Abby let Mikael into your apartment."

Nothing.

"You had no control over what Landon did when he killed those two men. That wasn't your fault."

Silence.

"You didn't owe me anything for pushing you out of the way of that car...and I was wrong to let you try and repay a debt that you didn't owe."

"Big surprise," Tim muttered.

Gibbs almost smiled. At least it was a response, even if it wasn't much.

"...and you're not a murderer now."

"Wrong again," Tim said, his voice a little shaky. He turned around and Gibbs wasn't surprised to see a slight sheen in his eyes. "You have no idea. You weren't there. You don't know!"

"Then, tell me. If I'm so wrong, McGee, tell me. What happened?"

"I shot her. What more do you need to know?"

Gibbs smiled. "You already proved to me that you're a whole lot more aware than that, McGee. You know exactly what more I would need to know."

Tim did not smile. "Not if you think that you're going to prove that I'm no murderer. You should have just arrested me for Smythe's murder. I wouldn't be guilty of that, but it still would have been justice."

"No, it wouldn't. You'd be letting the real killer get away."

"So? I'm still ultimately to blame for Smythe being killed in the first place. Just because someone else happened to pull the trigger doesn't change the fact that he was killed because I was there."

"Jewel, McGee. What about Jewel?"

"I did things with her," Tim said. "Things I would never do, but I did them. Sure, at first, it was to get on her good side...because I had to. At first, it was because of the job, but I didn't need to keep on with it...not as much as I did, but I did it. I started enjoying...what I did with her. ...and I wanted to be with her because she didn't treat me like I had to be one certain way. She didn't express surprise every time I did something right."

"Like we did?"

Tim turned away from him again and didn't answer.

"But she was just like you. Just the same. She said I was only a tech. She didn't think I was a threat. I warned her that I'd have to stop her...but I could see what she was thinking. Never good enough." Tim actually laughed a little. "...and I killed her for it."

"No, you didn't."

Tim turned around, strangely angry again. "Yes, I did! You don't know! You weren't there...and even if you had been, you still wouldn't know! I know what I was thinking! I _know_! ...and I was angry at her for underestimating me! She had her gun trained on the door and didn't even _care_ about me! I wasn't a threat to her! The last words I said to her were that she should have realized what I could do!"

Gibbs looked at Tim almost in awe, but it wasn't a good kind of awe. Everything Tim was saying flew totally in the face of what he thought about him...and Gibbs refused to believe that he was such a poor judge of character. He had made huge mistakes, but not about who Tim was. His mistake was in _forgetting_ who Tim was, not in the initial estimation.

"What about your first words?"

"What?"

"What are the first words you said to her in that room? What did you say first?"

"None of your business," Tim retorted.

"I know that."

"Then, don't ask."

Tim started to walk away again. Gibbs hurried to get in front of him.

"Wait."

"No."

"Yes."

"Get out of my way or I'll punch you out, too."

"Go ahead. I probably deserve it."

...and Tim managed to surprise Gibbs one more time. He made a fist, drew it back...and punched Gibbs very solidly...in the gut. Gibbs doubled over and went down to one knee, gasping for breath.

"You _do _deserve it!" Tim said...but he sounded like he was crying. Gibbs just couldn't look up to see if he was right.

...but as Gibbs had hoped, Tim didn't leave. He stood where he was as Gibbs struggled back to his feet...and it took him longer than he wanted to admit to get that far. After a couple of minutes, he stood up, still rubbing at his sore abdomen, and looked at Tim who was staring into the distance, tears on his cheeks, not looking at anyone or anything.

"McGee?"

Nothing.

"You all right?"

Still nothing.

"Tim?"

Now, Gibbs was actually worried that he'd pushed Tim too far...again.

"I didn't miss," Tim said softly.

"I know."

"I didn't even _want_ to miss...but it wasn't about you. It was about her."

Ah, back to it, even if Tim looked a lot more fragile than he had before.

"McGee...what did you say to her first?" Gibbs asked, but more gently. It was less of an order.

"I said that she could surrender and live or die fighting."

"And?"

"And I wanted her to live right then. I wanted her to live a lot more than I wanted you to live...but I had to show that I could do my job right."

"But?"

"She wouldn't. She was all about the thrills. Seeing how many she could take out before she died was exciting to her...like how she used to..." Tim cut himself off.

Gibbs decided that there was no point in probing about what Tim and Jewel had done together. Tim was obviously disgusted by it now.

"And then?" he prompted.

"I said I'd have to stop her...and she..." Anger. That easy anger...and the equally-easy fear. "...she said that I couldn't stop her. I was just a _tech_! She could kill me long before they killed her. She didn't know I had a gun. She hadn't even bothered to look for one because I wasn't worth her notice. She dismissed me and I killed her!"

"No, McGee. You're forgetting what you said."

"No, I'm not."

"Then, you're not giving yourself the credit you deserve."

"No, you're just trying to make yourself feel better about things by trying to make me think I'm not responsible for killing her. For murdering her."

"Oh, you're responsible. You definitely pulled the trigger...but it wasn't because of what she said. It was because you had to do your job...and that included protecting us, even if you hated us."

Tim laughed at him. "Where did you get _that _from?"

"From what you yourself told me just now. You offered her an out...and you said that you wanted to do your job right. She refused the out and you chose to do your job."

Tim looked at Gibbs like he'd suddenly sprouted horns.

"You said it, not me, McGee."

"Even if you're right, even if that does somehow magically absolve me of her murder, you can't change how I felt. You can't...can't get rid of that thrill I got knowing that I'd taken revenge for being dismissed. You can't change the fact that I _wanted_ to kill her. Just because circumstances might also have demanded it doesn't change anything."

"Yes, it does, McGee! It changes _everything_! You _had_ to kill her to save us. You can't know whether or not you'd have pulled that trigger if our lives weren't at stake."

"I punched Tony in the nose just because..."

"Because he thought that making a joke was the best way to go and he was wrong. He deserved that."

"Why are you saying all this _now_?" Tim asked. "Why are you trying _now_? Why are you bothering to do all this? _Now_? Why didn't you try before? Why didn't you help me before?" The tears came into Tim's eyes and Tim stopped speaking for a few seconds in an effort to control them. "...why didn't you stop me?"

"Because...McGee, I'm so far from perfect that it's not funny. I make mistakes...and I made a huge one. I forgot who I was dealing with. I forgot about you and there's no excuse for that. There's no excuse for how it started. There's no excuse for how it ended. I'm not even asking for you to forgive me for that because I know it's a long way from being possible."

Tim wiped away the tears, his eyes red, breathing shaky.

"Then...wh-what are you trying to say?"

"I'm trying to say that I'm sorry. I'm trying to say that even though I know it's not possible, I wish I could take back what I said and did...and what I didn't say and do. I wish I had asked the question that could have saved you so much pain. ...but mostly, I'm just saying that I'm sorry. You don't have to accept it. You don't have to believe it. ...but I should have said it before. I'm sorry."

Tim looked at him for a few seconds and then walked away. He paused by the side of the house and sighed, turning his head slightly toward Gibbs...not far enough to make eye contact.

"It's a beautiful desk...one of the most beautiful things I've ever seen. ...but it doesn't fit into my life. You might as well sell it. Get what you can out of it. It's not going to do me any good."

Gibbs also sighed but shook his head. "No, McGee. It's yours. It'll stay here until you want to do something with it. Whenever that may be."

"Never. That's when it will be," Tim said softly and walked out of the yard.

Gibbs took a deep breath. It wasn't what he'd hoped for, but it was better than he had expected. He started into his house.

...that was when he heard the squeal of tires and the gunshots.


	21. Chapter 21

**Chapter 21**

Gibbs ran through the house and out the front door to find Matt halfway across the yard, phone in hand...and Tim...Tim lying on the sidewalk. Not moving. Not even moaning. Just lying there. He sprinted over and knelt beside Tim.

"Where is he hit?" Gibbs asked.

"I don't know..." Matt said. "I don't see any blood."

Gibbs ripped open Tim's shirt and then let out a relieved laugh and rubbed his face.

"What?" Matt asked and looked before smiling in disbelief. "A vest? Why? How?"

Tim let out a long breathy moan.

"Tim? You okay?"

"No," Tim said tightly, letting out gasping breaths.

"How many times were you hit?"

"Feels like hundreds. Ow."

"Where did you get the vest?" Gibbs asked.

"Geri ...made me wear it," Tim said, opening his eyes and rubbing at his chest. "She said that...if I was going to expose myself...that I should at least _try_ to...be smart."

"Where is she?" Gibbs asked.

"I sent her to follow the car," Matt said. "I was here and could just as easily call 911 as they could."

"I don't...need an ambulance," Tim said, still wincing. He tried to sit up. "I'm okay. No holes in me."

Gibbs pushed him back to the ground.

"I can see at least five rounds lodged in the vest, McGee. You're not okay."

"None got through."

"Doesn't matter, Tim," Matt said. "For once, I'll agree with Agent Gibbs. There's no reason for you to pretend that you're okay. You could have broken ribs for all we know...and it's not like you're at your best anyway."

"Thanks," Tim said, blinkly fiercely up at the sky and wincing with every breath. "You...okay, Matt?"

"I'm fine."

"I thought...I heard...glass..."

"Back window. Nothing touched me."

"I'll...pay for it."

Matt laughed at him. "No, you won't. My insurance will. That's why I have it."

Tears of pain leaked from Tim's eyes as he tried to smile. "Lots of...guns shooting at you?"

"You never know. It's best to be prepared."

"Did you see who it was?" Gibbs asked.

"I didn't. I saw the car," Matt said, "but I couldn't see who was driving."

"McGee?"

Tim just closed his eyes and shook his head. "I...wasn't paying attention until they started shooting."

Gibbs opened the vest to make sure that Tim was right about no bullets penetrating.

"Didn't...believe me?" Tim asked.

"Better safe than sorry."

"I guess. Wow...this _really _hurts. They don't show that in the movies."

"That's why you're going to the hospital," Matt said.

"...but you won't be staying there long," Gibbs said.

"Why not?" Matt asked. "He just got released this morning from the _last_ time someone tried to kill him."

"Because they tried again."

"I wasn't...expecting that," Tim said. "Why...wait a year and then try twice in less than two days?"

"Good question," Gibbs said. "Until we know the answer to that question, we're putting you in full protective custody."

Tim groaned again. "Oh. Great."

"What does that mean?" Matt asked.

"It means that he'll be in a safe house, not with you."

It was a sign of how worried Matt was that he didn't protest. He just nodded. When another car came barreling up the street he actually moved to cover Tim, just in case...but it was only Geri and Lara coming back. They shook their heads at Gibbs' look.

"Got away," Lara said in irritation. "Couldn't catch them."

"Them?" Gibbs asked.

"Yeah. Two in the car. Dark sedan. Plates were covered. Already put out a BOLO for it. We're hoping that Metro might see them."

"You all right?" Geri asked Tim.

Tim nodded. "Thanks for the vest, Geri," he said.

"Now, aren't you glad you listened to me?"

Another nod.

A siren was heard in the distance, growing steadily louder.

"What we doing, Gibbs?" Geri asked.

"Go with them to the hospital. I'm going to talk to Vance. McGee is going into protective custody until we can track down these guys."

"MCRT in control?"

Gibbs looked at Tim. He hesitated before nodding. This would bring Tim in close quarters with people he'd been actively avoiding for over a year, but he didn't want to trust Tim's safety to anyone else. If it did become too much of a strain, they could change things up, but in the meanwhile...

"Yes, we're in control."

Tim's eyes opened briefly and then closed again. He made no comment. The cops and ambulance pulled up and did some on-site assessments. Gibbs explained the situation and that Tim was to be kept under guard at all times while in the hospital. Relieved that this didn't appear to be a life-threatening injury, the EMTs loaded Tim up and whisked him away. Lara and Geri followed behind, but Matt lingered.

"I thought you'd head out after him."

"He'll be okay for now," Matt said.

"How about you?" Gibbs asked.

"I'm fine." He hesitated and then met Gibbs' gaze. "Did anything good come out of this?"

"McGee getting shot?" Gibbs asked with a smile. "I kind of doubt it."

"You know what I mean," Matt said seriously. "I don't know why you insist on pretending you don't care...when it's clear to me, at least, that you do."

"I'm not pretending very well, then, am I."

"What's the point?"

"I don't know if anything good came out of it. Too soon to tell."

"So what happens now?"

Gibbs smiled. "Now? You go to the hospital and I make sure that no one else tries to kill McGee."

"Why you?"

The faint accusation in the question made Gibbs smile again. He knew why Matt was asking...but he figured that now was not the time to get into an argument. ...and he still felt a bit winded from Tim's punch. He didn't need another one.

"Because I don't let my people become targets."

"He's not really one of 'your people' anymore."

"He is as long as he's part of a case...which he is. Two cases, in fact. That means he's my responsibility."

"He was before, too," Matt said pointedly.

"Yes, he was," Gibbs replied without elaborating. Matt might be angry with him, but it really wasn't any of his business what he and Tim had talked about.

Matt just shook his head and went back to his car. Gibbs watched him drive away and then pulled out his phone. He had a lot of calls to make.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Vance sighed as he sat waiting for Gibbs to arrive. He felt for Tim, having to deal with all this, but the question Gibbs had asked bothered him.

_Why now?_

What _had_ changed to make Tim's death so important now? He supposed that part of it could be chalked up to the fact that the trial dates had finally been scheduled...if that's what this was all about. If Tim's account was to be believed, then David Collier's involvement couldn't be coincidental. ...but why? It couldn't be that they'd only now discovered Tim's identity. They'd likely used his gun to commit murder. It had been stolen months ago. So...what was it? He had JAG, the FBI and the DA nipping at his heels because of this and he wanted to get to the bottom of it.

That was why he was sitting here late in the evening, waiting for Gibbs to get here and fill him in.

The knock on the door was as brief as it was welcome. Gibbs came striding in before Vance had a chance to say anything.

"Well, Gibbs? What's going on?"

"Someone is trying to kill McGee."

"Yeah, I caught that. Who and why?"

"David Collier...and company now."

"Company?"

"There were two people in the car. Don't know if it was Collier and someone else or two new players."

"Okay. So why?"

"It's got to be because of the trial."

"Yes, but why now? What's changed to make this necessary? They've had a long time to take McGee out if that's what they wanted to do."

"McGee thinks that the initial murder and attempt on his life were to discredit his testimony. If he looks crazy, then the evidence he gathered will be suspect."

Vance nodded. "Okay, I'm with you so far, but why is killing him so important now?"

Gibbs sat down. "That depends on how much they know...whoever _they_ are. If they know that we're onto the reasons for Lance Corporal Smythe's murder, then they may want to cut their losses and get rid of McGee as fast as they can."

"If they _don't_ know about that?"

"Trial dates are coming and McGee is still available to testify. They have to submit witnesses and potential witnesses. They'll know about McGee. They wouldn't be the first people to try getting rid of a witness."

"But that still doesn't explain the timing."

"They're not in prison, Leon. Their movements are restricted, but they've been out on bail for months."

Gibbs paused as his phone rang. He looked at it and answered.

"What is it, Davidson?"

"_Hey, Gibbs. You wanted to know if Collier showed up at his place?"_

"Yeah?"

"_Well, he just did. Just pulled in."_

"Car?"

"_Silver, four-door. Can't see the make."_

"What is it?" Vance asked.

"Collier just showed up at his house."

"Really."

"Yep."

"_Gibbs?"_ Jamie asked. _"What do you want me to do? You pulled Tony away to guard McGee. I'm all alone here."_

"You heard from Geri yet?"

"_Yeah, she called and said she's on her way, but she's not... Wait. Gibbs, another car just pulled up. Sedan. Dark...maybe blue or black. I can't tell in the streetlights."_

"Plates?"

"_They're there, but they're obscured. Two people just got out and are heading inside. I don't recognize them."_

"Okay. I'm heading out to you, Jamie. Tell Geri to step on it but do _not_ engage until you have backup. Understood?"

"_Absolutely, Gibbs. No way I–"_

Jamie's voice suddenly cut off and there was the sound of an explosion.

"Jamie! Jamie!"

"What's going on?" Vance asked.

"Don't know."

"_G-Gibbs...the house...just..."_

"Just what?" Gibbs looked briefly at Vance who just nodded, indicating that he'd make the necessary calls.

Gibbs ran out of the office, heading out to find out what had happened.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Well, Mr. McGee, you were lucky. I can count six bullets that must have hit the vest just based on the contusions on your torso."

Tim winced and tried to smile at Matt. "Yeah, that's me. Mr. Good-Luck."

"You do, however, have three bruised ribs, and I think that you'd do well to take a few days of doing basically nothing."

"Nothing? How exciting," Tim said.

"Perhaps not exciting, but if you want to recover in a reasonable amount of time, you'll listen to me."

"Doing nothing sounds absolutely wonderful," Tim said. "I want nothing more."

The doctor smiled sympathetically. "Looks like you could use the time off."

"Yeah."

"Well, you could stay here tonight if you want an excuse for not working...but it's not necessary as long as you take it easy."

"Thanks, but I've seen enough of hospitals," Tim said. "I think I'm good to go."

"All right. Here's a prescription pain killer. Make sure you follow the directions and after that, if you still need some pain relief, switch over to ibuprofen. For the next two days, apply ice or a cold pack to the painful areas and try not to move too much." She handed Tim a piece of paper. "Here are some breathing exercises to start with...but _only_ after 48 hours, got it?"

"Got it."

"And here are some gentle stretches you can use as well...but, again, only after 48 hours. For the next two days, you are officially an invalid. It can take up to six weeks for full healing, but if you do everything as I say, it will more than likely be considerably shorter."

"Thanks."

"All right. I'll go get the forms for your release. It shouldn't take too long."

The doctor left and Tim leaned back on the bed, wincing.

"Tim?"

"Yeah, Matt?"

"You going to be okay?"

Tim smiled weakly. "Sure...in about six weeks."

"That's not what I meant."

Tim looked over at his friend, the smile fading. "Probably. Close quarters with them...I don't know. ...but it's not like I have to be friends with them all of a sudden. I don't even have to talk to them if I don't want to."

"Do you?"

"No...but I probably should."

"Like with Agent Gibbs?"

"Yeah. Like with him. It doesn't solve anything...but maybe it'll help."

"Tim, I'm really sorry about all this."

"Yeah, me, too. ...I guess it was wishful thinking to imagine that it was over." Tim looked up and saw Tony and Ziva out the window, talking to hospital security. He sighed. "Maybe it'll never be over."

"Maybe it shouldn't be," Matt said.

Tim raised his eyebrows and smiled disbelievingly. "You think there's something good that's going to come from this? You have way more faith than I do."

Matt chuckled. "We established that a long time ago."

"Yeah."

There was a knock on the door.

"Sometimes, I really envy you, Matt," Tim said. He took a breath, winced and then sighed. "Come in."

Tony and Ziva opened the door and came inside.

"Hey, McGee. We're going to take you to the safe house as soon as you're released."

"Yeah, I was told. For how long?"

"Until we can capture those involved," Ziva said. She turned a disconcerting glance on Tim. "Will that be all right with you?"

"Yeah, sure," Tim said and looked away. "I love the prospect of being shut away with you guys. Dream come true." Then, he winced...but it wasn't because of his ribs. It was because he knew that what he'd said had been mean and unnecessary. Somehow, it was just easier to push them away to start than to even let a suggestion of weakness come out.

"Uh..." Matt tried to fill the awkward silence. "...so...this safe house. Is there any chance that Judith and I will be able to...at least _talk_ to Tim while he's there? I'm assuming we can't know where it is."

"You can't," Tony said. "...but we can probably set something up so you can keep in some kind of contact. We'll let you know."

"Okay." Matt looked at Tim. "I'd better get going."

"I'll be all right," Tim said, not looking at anyone. "Tell Judith I'm sorry about your car."

Matt chuckled. "Don't worry. She'll just say that it means we need to get a new one."

Tim nodded, unable to make any more quips...and not wanting Matt to leave him alone with his former coworkers. Matt squeezed his shoulder and then left the room. Tim looked up at Tony and Ziva.

"Hi," he said awkwardly.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Gibbs pulled up to...the former residence of David Collier. All that remained was a burning hulk. The small duplex where he'd been living was fully ablaze.

"Jamie?" he called out, unable to see her in the midst of all the chaos.


	22. Chapter 22

**Chapter 22**

"Davidson!" Gibbs called again. Then, he saw her on the back of an ambulance, sitting with her arms around a frightened woman who was staring in despair at the burning duplex. He hurried through the emergency personnel to get to her. "Agent Davidson," he said once more.

She looked at him and smiled, unabashedly frightened by what had just happened. Her face was streaked with soot, much like the woman beside her.

"Hi, Gibbs." That was all.

"You all right?"

She nodded, but there was a sheen in her eyes that couldn't entirely be chalked up to all the smoke in the air.

"I didn't see a sign of an explosive," she said, her voice slightly shaky. "...but they could have had one. Obviously, they did."

"When you get a chance," he said.

"Yes, Gibbs," she said, nodding again in understanding.

"Everything...my clothes...my computer..." The woman began to cry. "All gone!"

"I know. At least you're safe," Jamie said gently. She tried to smile again but didn't make it this time. She just let the woman cry on her shoulder.

Gibbs gave her a knowing look and headed off to talk to the people in charge of the scene. ...so that he could take control.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Okay, McGee, there's a bedroom back there. Make yourself...at home," Tony said, recalling all too well just what Tim's home looked like right now. The safe house wasn't much...but it was far and away better than where Tim was currently living.

Tim hobbled into the bedroom like an old man. He had taken some of the prescription painkillers on the way over and it had made him distinctly groggy. Probably made things easier on all concerned.

"Thanks." That was all he said. Nothing more. Tony and Ziva watched him carefully sit down on the bed and then lay flat. His eyes closed and then nothing.

"He does not look very good," Ziva said softly.

"He just got shot at six times, Ziva," Tony said. "Of course, he doesn't look good."

"That is not what I mean. He looks...defeated, Tony."

Tony stared at Tim for a few seconds as he lay stiffly on the bed and then walked away.

"Tony!" Ziva said. "Are you not worried?"

"We're not going to do this again, Ziva."

"Do what?"

"Talk _about_ him instead of _to_ him. When he gets up...then we'll talk."

"What if he will not talk? I am worried about him...not because I feel he is not good enough. I am worried because he has been hurt...many times. Too many times for any one person to take. I want to help him."

"We'll talk to him, Ziva. We will. This time...we'll talk."

Ziva nodded. "Very well. I will secure the area."

"Okay."

Tony walked toward the kitchen and sat down, thinking about Tim's life as it now stood. ...and about the typewriter currently sitting on the counter in his own apartment. When would be the right time to give it to him? Not now, certainly. ...or maybe... He shook his head. There was no reason to show off that he had purchased the typewriter Tim had given up...seemingly voluntarily. He sat down at the table and sighed. Then, he looked back toward the room where Tim had retreated.

Tim was lying on his side...eyes open, looking at him.

"Hey, McGee."

"Hi."

"I thought you'd be tired enough to be asleep already."

"I am."

"But you're not?"

A slight smile. "Not yet."

An awkward silence fell as Tim stared at him without speaking. Tony couldn't think of anything to say. By the time Ziva returned from her scouting, Tony was ready to scream just to break the silence.

"All is clear," she said.

"You sure?" Tim asked from his room.

Ziva turned in surprise to him. "I did not realize you were awake."

"I am."

"I am sure," she said. "You are safe tonight, McGee."

The smile that flitted briefly across Tim's lips was not one of happiness or relief. It wasn't even one that expressed much reliance on Ziva's assessment.

"For tonight," he echoed and then winced and rolled over so that his back was to them.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Jamie was agitated. Gibbs could see it and it surprised him. She was usually almost as unflappable as he himself was. She had managed to disentangle herself from the other resident of the duplex about twenty minutes after he arrived, and she joined him in asserting NCIS' jurisdiction of the case. Lovitz' entire team arrived only a few minutes after that. The bomb squad was there, Metro PD, as well as the fire department. In short, the block was full of law enforcement from every level. Once Lovitz' team had been brought up to speed, they took over the basics while Gibbs took Jamie aside to talk to her about what she'd seen.

"You all right?" he asked as they sat in the sedan.

"Yeah...just a bit shaky, I'll admit." She smiled and then looked out the windshield. The house was still ablaze but the fire crew had it more or less under control. It was just a matter of getting the fire out. They weren't worried about it spreading any longer at least.

"It's...I can't even explain it."

"Explain what?"

"How I feel right now...but...I can tell you what happened." She took a deep breath and sat up, obviously shaking off her anxiety.

"So?"

"I was waiting as instructed. Collier got here and went inside. He was carrying a shoulder bag but nothing else. I called you and the other car pulled up. One of them was carrying a briefcase, the other a shoulder bag. I figure they must have been whoever hired Collier in the first place."

"Did you recognize them?"

Jamie shook her head. "I didn't...but if they're one of the people involved in the drug dealing case...I don't know all the players involved there. Grant, I know...and Noreen Sharp, but they had too many underlings for me to know them all on sight, in the dark."

"That's fine. Did you at least get a look at them?"

"Not good enough to identify them. I can give you basic build but nothing concrete. Sorry, Gibbs. Maybe enough of their car survived."

"Maybe." He didn't have much hope for that...and Jamie didn't seem to either. It was too close to the house and had caught on fire after the explosion. "What else?"

"They never came out the front door. I didn't hear anything; so either they killed Collier without firing a shot or else he wasn't expecting the bomb...and set it off himself. They must have left through the back. I figure that they decided Collier knew too much and so they needed to get rid of him. He's already failed to kill McGee and if they know that we're not fooled by Lance Corporal Smythe's murder, then they've been wasting money on Collier and McGee is still a threat."

Gibbs nodded. It made sense.

"Now, how are you doing?"

Jamie laughed shakily. "I heard that woman start screaming right after the explosion. Couldn't wait for the fire department to get here; so I went in and got her. I didn't even think about someone being home next door. The lights were out...and I just didn't think." She looked at the burning duplex. "Gibbs...I dropped the ball tonight."

"How? Because you did what I told you to do and stayed out of the way?"

"I didn't anticipate. I didn't think about the possibility of Collier's employers deciding to get rid of him. I didn't think about the woman next door. I just didn't think...and Collier's dead...and that woman has lost almost everything but the clothes on her back."

"None of which was your fault, Davidson," Gibbs said firmly. "I didn't think about Collier being cut out of things either, and I didn't expect him to be killed. I certainly didn't plan on a bomb after we got rid of his booby-trap. Heck, we don't even know why he came back to his place. He must have realized that we'd been there...and we won't be able to find out. It's not your fault."

"Maybe I was wrong to stay on after I found out I was pregnant. Maybe I should have stopped right away."

"Do you feel physically-incapable of working?" Gibbs asked.

"No. I feel fine. Haven't even had morning sickness."

"Do you think it's clouding your judgment? Do you think that, if you weren't pregnant, you would somehow have known just what to do here?" He let some sarcasm infuse his voice.

Jamie laughed and shook her head. "Put like that, it sounds stupid. I guess I just wasn't ready to have someone die on my watch, Gibbs. It's my first."

"Really?"

"Yeah. Out at Norfolk...not too many people were killed at all, and even fewer while we were investigating. To have Collier die...right in front of me...I don't know. It's not what I was expecting."

"No one does, usually."

"Guess not." Jamie took a deep breath and let it out. "So what now?"

"We investigate. But you go home and come back tomorrow. Lovitz'll finish up here and we'll start fresh in the morning."

"You sure, Gibbs?"

"Yeah. Go."

"Thanks. Is McGee all right?"

"He'll be all right, but I don't think he is right now."

"I understand. Good night."

"'Night."

Jamie got out of the car and walked away. Gibbs leaned back against the seat for a few seconds and sighed.

"_Why didn't you bother to ask?"_

Tim's shouted question, his demand for understanding. It had affected a lot more than just how Gibbs thought of Tim. Would he have thought to ask Jamie how she was feeling about what had happened if Tim hadn't demanded that of Gibbs before? Maybe. Maybe not. He was usually better about that with women than with men as a rule...but would he have been intent enough to have realized that how Jamie was feeling about it all? He could have lost another agent just because Jamie was feeling discouraged about someone dying while she was so close to it.

He hoped that had been enough. Jamie was generally quite grounded and so to have her questioning her abilities was a surprise and an unpleasant one at that. Well, he'd have to see what tomorrow brought. She might just need some time to decompress...and her husband would definitely help with that.

With another sigh, Gibbs looked at the house which was mostly smoldering now under the constant streams of water being directed at it. This was an unexpected twist to the case. Their prime suspect in the murder of Lance Corporal Smythe and in the attempted murder of Tim McGee was now the victim of murder himself. It had to be related to the drug case in some way, but who exactly had come to the house? Had murder been the intention all along? How much did these people know? And if they knew so much about the investigation, how had they found it out?

Too many questions...and Tim's life...possibly his sanity as well...hinged on figuring all this out. Without solving the case, it would be difficult, if not impossible, to try helping Tim repair his tattered psyche.

"Gibbs!"

"Coming, Lovitz," he called back and got out to finish up the investigation...for tonight.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim heard Tony and Ziva talking softly. The phone had rung earlier, but he hadn't heard what the call was about. He couldn't discern their words but what he had heard earlier had been enough. Like Gibbs, they were displaying a disconcerting amount of real concern for his well-being. It didn't seem fair that they were doing this now as opposed to before. Still, he wasn't sure he quite trusted their good will just yet.

_You could talk to them now._

No. He didn't want to do that.

_Coward._

Yes, he _was_ a coward, but he was also feeling loopy from the pain medication and he was tired and he hurt. He didn't want to have what would be yet another difficult conversation while he was so _not_ engaged with what was currently going on around him. Tomorrow was soon enough. He hoped.

...and what would happen to him tomorrow? Who would come after him? Would someone be killed this time? What would happen? He was worried about that. He remembered what James had said to him about fighting against the feeling of needing to be in control.

_No more fighting tonight. Just sleep._

Of course, even when he didn't fight his fear of his teammates, his need to be in control...there was still the fight against his own memories.

That was a fight he never won.


	23. Chapter 23

**Chapter 23**

"No...no...don't touch...stop...no..."

Tony woke up, wondering where the moaning was coming from. It wasn't Ziva...since it was a male voice.

"Not like you...no..."

"McGee, wake up." That was Ziva. Tim...right, of course.

Tony shook his head to clear the cobwebs of sleep away and got up. He had only been asleep for an hour or two, trading off with Ziva in getting some shut eye.

"Jewel...stop...stop it. NO!"

"McGee!" Ziva said more insistently.

Tony stumbled out of the spare bedroom and to where Tim had been sleeping. His eyes were open in the disturbing way that sleeping people sometimes had.

_He's still dreaming about Jewel?_ Tony asked himself.

Then, Tim actually screamed and sat up. The movement, stretching his bruised and battered body as it did, pulled him from his nightmare. Tears were wetting his cheeks as his eyes only gradually began acknowledging the existence of external stimuli. His gaze looked around the room in momentary confusion and then rested on Tony and Ziva staring at him. He was breathing heavily but started to flush in embarrassment.

"S-Sorry if I woke you up," he muttered and looked away.

"It's okay, McGee," Tony said, more shocked by Tim's extreme reaction than he had thought he'd be. "Are you all right?"

Tim laughed a little and winced. His face almost crumpled but he got it under control.

"Sure. I'm great. I'm fine. Nothing to worry about. It just happens sometimes. Not important. Don't worry." Then, his voice dropped almost to a whisper. "You never worried before. Why start now?"

Ziva looked at Tony and he knew they had both heard and understood to what Tim was referring.

"We were asleep that night, McGee," Ziva said after a long pause. "We did not hear you. We were not intentionally ignoring your request. I have wished...many times...that I was awake to hear you."

Tim looked at her and his lower lip trembled for just a moment before he stopped himself.

"You had plenty of opportunities to ask if I was all right," he said and then looked at Tony. "You had every chance to ask questions, to show concern...and not make light of what was happening. That was one moment in eight months."

"But I do regret it," Ziva said. "I am sorry."

"It's too late for sorry...and it's too early in the morning."

"But can you believe that we're sorry, McGee?" Tony asked.

"Sure...you're sorry _now_, not back then. How many times, other than the time I heard you..._chatting_...how many times did you talk about how you didn't think I could do it, how I wasn't good enough to do the job, that one of you would have done better?" He looked at Ziva and began reciting. "'I would not have thought it possible but McGee is doing a good job.'" Then, he looked at Tony. "'Being undercover is hard and McGee's pretty green.' And as I recall, you also complained that you could have done it better...even then. So...other than what I heard, how often did you say the exact same things or variants on the same criticisms?"

Tony was surprised at what Tim said...if for no other reason than that he could quote _exactly_ what he seemed to have heard so many months ago. It had bothered him enough to get shuffled off into his permanent memory. He had known Tim resented how he'd been treated, but to go this far? That was a surprise.

"Or how about all the times you said you liked Thomas better than you liked me? Did you ever feel the slightest twinge of regret for saying those things before I went nuts? Did you ever bother to notice how much I _hated_ you and resented you for how you treated me? I'm not even saying that all I did was justified. It wasn't... but did you even bother to _notice_?"

Tony looked at Ziva who seemed equally surprised by what Tim was saying.

"We did notice, McGee," Ziva said. "We were worried about you. We even asked Ducky to be there to speak with you so that he could evaluate your status."

"Yes...and the only thing you worried about," Tim retorted, "was whether or not I was going to go native and start working for the bad guys for real. I heard you talking that day. You weren't worried about the fact that you were pushing me too far, that you weren't being supportive enough. You were only worried that _I_ might screw up again."

"No!" Ziva protested. "No, that is not all. We were truly worried about you...about _you_, McGee, not about the operation only."

"Could have fooled me. You sure didn't show it."

"That shouldn't surprise you, Probie. We're not the best at that."

"Don't...call me that," Tim said fiercely. "You never change. You think that you can say sorry and everything is okay again. You think that one moment of regret is enough to make up for months of willful ignorance. Well, it's not. That day when I told you about their plans, about how they were trying to get rid of the competition...did you ever stop to think about how much I regretted the people who died because I didn't say anything about what they were doing?"

Tony didn't know what Ziva was thinking but if he were honest...

"No...McGee. No, I never thought of that," Ziva said softly.

"You never wondered if it kept me up at night? You never wondered, while you were parsing my behavior that _you_ might have done something wrong? You never considered the possibility that I was reacting to what I saw as...as utter neglect? Never? Not once?"

"Not soon enough."

"Got that right. Like I said...it's too late to be sorry."

Tim started to lay down again although it was clear to Tony that he wouldn't be sleeping just yet.

"A smart guy told me that it's still important to say sorry, even when it's too late...or maybe _especially_ when it's too late. ...and I _am_ sorry, McGee. For a lot of things...but I'm really sorry for not...getting you."

"What do you mean?"

"I should have known better. I know that what works for me doesn't work for you but I ignored that."

Tim sat up again. "Meaning?"

"I...screwed up."

"Oh, it was all an innocent mistake?" Tim asked. "_That's_ what you think it was? Just one little _oops_ moment and that's it?"

"No," Tony said, quickly. He could tell Tim was intentionally needling him, but also that he was baffled by what Tony was saying...because he wasn't explaining himself very well.

"Then, what are you saying? Because I'm not getting it."

Tony wracked his brain trying to think of what to say...and he had intended to let it out, but it just slipped out before he could stop it.

"I...I got your typewriter, McGee! I was trying to...to...fix things."

"You..." Tim's eyes widened and then narrowed. "You...got my typewriter? How in the world do you...did you...even _know_ where it was?"

"I asked Jed."

"My neighbor?"

"Yes."

"Why?" Tim asked, sounding almost hurt. "Why would you–?"

"Because...McGee, you're the guy who...who has a typewriter!" Tony said, feeling helpless. "You're not the guy who lives in that dump and...and...and has to sell his typewriter to pay his rent. I was just getting it. I wasn't understanding before, but...but you're not that guy! ...and I wanted to help you be who you were...even if I didn't get it."

"My typewriter...you...had no right to...to butt in like that. I could have got it back sometime."

"Would you?" Tony asked. "...because if I'm getting you now, you never would have. I don't know why, but you wouldn't do it."

Tim looked away.

"Am I right, McGee?"

"If you think that...then, why would you do it? Mr. Golden gave me a good price on it. It couldn't have been cheap...so why–?"

"Because it's not you...and I think you want it back, McGee."

Tim laughed. "Where am I going to put it, D–... Where am I going to put it?"

"We have a table here."

Tim laughed at him and then winced a little. "And what would I write? What do I have worth writing about?"

"Must it be worth something?" Ziva asked.

Tim's eyes moved to her.

"I thought you enjoyed writing."

"You thought a lot of things that were wrong," Tim retorted.

"Am I wrong about this, McGee?"

"What does it matter? As soon as the case is over, I'll be gone again."

"Is that...really what you want?" Ziva asked, sounding almost plaintive.

"Why would I want to stay? Tell me...what is it that you think I'd gain from sticking around?"

There was a short silence. Tony opened his mouth to say...something, but Ziva beat him to the punch.

"Perhaps you would gain nothing...but I...have missed you, McGee."

"Have you?" Tim asked, with very little interest. He was looking at Ziva as though waiting for the end of the joke.

"Yes, McGee. I have."

"Why?"

"What do you mean?"

Tim let out a soft burst of laughter. "It's a simple enough question. Why? For one thing, I didn't get the sense that you cared much while I was undercover, and when I came back...well, I'm fairly certain you weren't all that enamored with how I was acting. If you try to tell me you were, I'll know you're lying."

"I did not like it, but I still did miss your friendship."

"Didn't seem to bother you before...like when I got picked over you. You sure weren't thinking of friendship then."

"No, I was not."

Tim sighed and shook his head. "You know what, guys? It's late...or rather early. Too early for this. Go to bed. I give you permission to ignore me if I start screaming again. I won't care this time. Don't worry. I always wake up eventually."

Tony could see that Tim didn't want to keep up the conversation, but there was one thing he just had to know...if Tim would open up even a little bit.

"McGee?"

"What?" Tim asked, sounding...tired.

"I just have one question if...if you'll answer it."

A slight smile. "And what would that be? You going to tell me you tracked down my Porsche, too?"

"No...couldn't afford that on my best days."

The smile widened by a fraction and then vanished. "What?"

"You're still dreaming of Julia Westin?"

Tim looked at Tony and then away.

"Yes. Obviously."

"Why?"

Tim looked down at the blanket for a long moment. Tony would have sworn that Ziva had almost held her breath in anticipation of what Tim might say...or if he'd lose it and start yelling again. Tony thought, however, that Tim didn't have the energy to yell. Not right now. ...but he started to doubt whether Tim would answer as the silent seconds extended.

He turned to leave, Ziva following him without speaking.

...and then...

"Because I'm still afraid of that part of me...the part that was willing...no, the part that was _wanting_ to kill. That still scares me and that's what I dream about."

Tony turned back to say something, but Tim's face was still turned downward. He wouldn't lift his gaze to them again. Instead, he lay down and faced the wall instead of his two former teammates.

"Good night, McGee," Ziva said softly. "Pleasant dreams."

No response.

Tony left and Ziva followed him out to the main room.

"I thought he would be more angry," Ziva said quietly. "Not so afraid."

"Yeah." Tony looked back at the motionless form in the bedroom. "I wish he was...mad at us...instead of afraid of himself."

"Yes. That would be much better."

"It's almost my shift. You might as well get some sleep."

Ziva nodded and went to the other room without complaint. Tony doubted that she'd sleep, though. He certainly didn't feel tired any longer.

What remained of the night was passed in absolute silence.

...but no one was sleeping.


	24. Chapter 24

**Chapter 24 **

Over the next few days, the investigation into the explosion continued but without much success. They pulled one body from the ashes and were able to identify the man as one Alexander Donovan, formerly a guest of a state prison in California. Assault. There had been suspicions of other crimes (including a murder) but never any evidence. Gibbs and Jamie took over working with Lovitz' team in trying to figure out just who else had been at that house. Tony and Ziva stayed with Tim.

For the first 48 hours, Tim mostly slept. Even with the nightmares that often disturbed his slumber, he spent more time asleep than awake which kept the safe house rather quiet (with the exception of Tim's moans). After that, however, there was little improvement in their interactions. Tim was awake more but he avoided Tony and Ziva...as much as was possible in the small space. He didn't eat with them. He didn't talk to them. He stayed in his room...doing absolutely nothing, it seemed.

Finally, Tony had enough. He left Ziva in the house for an hour or two while he ran a few errands and then came back and knocked on Tim's door...giving him the option to talk before he forced it on him.

There was no response.

Tony tried to turn the knob and found it locked. He paused for two seconds and then kicked the door open, the feeble lock standing no chance.

Tim was on his feet, facing the door, eyes wide open. Whatever he'd been doing before Tony opened the door had been forgotten.

"McGee! This is stupid!"

Tim said nothing. He just stared...as if he were watching a TV show...except that his eyes were full of fear. That gave Tony a moment's uncertainty. What was with the fear? Why not anger, hatred, loathing...even bitterness? Why fear?

"You can't keep hiding from us like _we're_ the bad guys! We're not not trying to hurt you and I wish you'd knock off dragging the crap from two years ago up again."

"Maybe it's easy for you to get past it," Tim said, his voice very low. "It's not so easy for me."

"That's not what this is about! You haven't even _seen_ us in months!"

"Tony," Ziva began.

"No! No, we're not going to sit back and let Mr. Morose here walk all over us! We made mistakes but we've apologized! We feel bad! What more do you want, McGee?"

"Nothing. I don't want anything," Tim said, his voice still low, still dull.

"Yeah, you do!" Tony said. He was sick of Tim _not_ getting angry at them. This resignation was hard to combat. He needed Tim to act like he felt _something_. "You do, McGee, and it's really annoying to have you sitting there lying about it!"

"I'm sorry that I'm annoying you. Maybe you should go somewhere else," Tim said.

...but this time, Tony could hear that there was frustration in Tim's voice. He walked out of the room, grabbed the typewriter from the table and lugged it into the room, dumping it unceremoniously on the dresser.

"Take your stupid typewriter and start using it, Mr. Gemcity!"

"Why? So _you_ can feel better about it?" Tim asked.

"No, so you can."

"How is that going to make me feel better? How? Tell me!"

Tony almost smiled. Tim was mad. It was almost a relief for him to be mad instead of downtrodden.

"Well, since you hold us both in such contempt, maybe it'll make you feel better about being here. You can occupy your time writing stuff about us or something."

"What?"

"Since you hate us so much, since you have no intention of ever forgiving us for what we've done..."

"This isn't all about _you_," Tim shouted and then looked at Ziva. "It's not about you buying my typewriter! It's not about you missing me. It not about that!" He stormed across the room, forcing both Tony and Ziva to back up a step or two. "You...You don't know what you're talking about! You don't know!"

"Then, tell us, McGee," Ziva said. "If we do not understand, then _tell_ us!"

"I don't have to tell you anything! I have to be here for...for however long and that's it! Stop trying to make it right! You can't fix what's wrong!"

"Then, what is, McGee?" Tony asked, not shouting this time. "What _is_ wrong?"

"Stop...doing this," Tim said and slammed the door in their faces.

"Well...that's childish," Tony said.

"Are you certain you wish to pursue this now, Tony?" Ziva asked.

"If not now, when, Ziva? Right now, he can't get away from us."

"He has closed the door."

"We can open it. Remember what happened before? We left him alone and he...went crazy! We can't just leave him alone, again! It didn't help last time. It won't help this time."

"Why are you insisting on fighting with him?"

"Because I don't like McGee being so...so _not_ McGee!"

Tony pounded on the door.

"McGee!"

Nothing. No response. Just as before.

Tony was frustrated and slammed it open again.

...and stopped.

Tim wasn't startled this time. He wasn't looking angry. He wasn't even looking dull. ...and he wasn't looking at Tony or Ziva. He was staring at the typewriter with the strangest expression Tony had ever seen.

"McGee?"

Tim reached out a hand and almost touched it before pulling back.

"I don't hate you," Tim said.

"You don't? Could have fooled me."

"It's too hard to."

"What?"

"It's too hard to hate...for so long. It's too hard to be angry. It's just not worth it. I can't. I'm not...strong enough to keep hating."

"Okay..." Tony looked at Ziva, now unsure of what to do. Anger, bitterness, loathing. Tony had been ready to deal with those. ...but this...this new weirdness.

"McGee? What is wrong?" Ziva asked. "Why do you avoid us if you no longer hate us?"

"It's not you. I don't want to be around you because...because of me, not because of you."

"Huh? Make sense, McGee."

Tim turned to him, briefly angry again. "Look, I don't need this! My life is a shambles right now! I don't need this, too!"

"Why? Why is it a shambles?" Tony asked. "Are you going to say that's all our fault, too?"

"It would be easier if it was," Tim shouted. "...but it has to be this way. That's why I don't want this back." He pointed to the typewriter. "I can't...I can't have it back!" He picked it up and shoved it back into Tony's arms. "Stop trying to fix things that can't be fixed! Stop trying to make things how they were! They can't be how they were! Ever!"

"Why not?" Tony asked, now completely confused. "Even if you don't think you could ever work with us again, why can't you have your typewriter?"

"I can't let things be how they were!" Tim shouted. "I have to be...where I am...the life I have...that's what it has to be!"

"Why?" Ziva asked, feeling frustrated as well as confused. "I do not understand, McGee."

"Just stop it," Tim said, almost begging. "Just stop already. You're trying. G-Gibbs tried. Don't! I don't want you to try!" Tim's lower lip quivered for just a moment. "Don't...make me miss what I gave up!"

"I don't get this, McGee. Why do things have to be this way?"

"Because they do," Tim said. "Now, take this stupid thing and leave me alone! You had no problem with that before. Try it now!" He shoved Tony (who ran into Ziva) and then closed the door again...leaving them both confused.

"Okay... what was all that?" Tony asked.

"I do not know, Tony."

"He said that Gibbs tried," Tony mused. He turned and set the typewriter down on the table again and then pulled out his phone.

"You think Gibbs will tell you?"

"Doesn't hurt to ask, and I'm thinking that there's a lot going on in McGee's head that we _really_ don't know."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

As soon as the door closed, Tim felt totally ashamed of himself. He had known that this was a good opportunity to talk to them both, now when he couldn't avoid it...but when it came right down to it, he was too afraid of trusting them...too afraid of what might come from it to let out his deepest fears. It was stupid, and he knew he wasn't behaving well. Something about them made it really hard.

He could heard the low rumble of them talking but he couldn't understand the words. He knew that they had no reason to think well of him, especially not now, and he knew they were justified in being confused at this point...when he'd confessed to not being angry with them. How did he explain what was holding him back? How did he explain the...the impossibility of things going back to anywhere _near_ normal? And why should they in any case? Ultimately, hadn't the normal way of doing things been what led him to the point? Tony teased. Ziva looked down on. Tim resented. Gibbs...just seemed to watch it all happen. How would going back to that do anyone any good?

As the minutes passed, however, Tim started doing what he had desperately _not_ wanted to do. He started remembering, started thinking about what things had been like before. Those moments that were forever out of his reach. After all he'd done, all the bad choices he'd made.

_What's the point in trying? Why am I bothering?_ Tim asked himself.

Minutes changed to hours and Tim was left to his own devices, thinking. He was thinking hard. ...and then he remembered something his father had said to him, a quote he had used when Tim had left the psychiatric hospital.

"'Confront the dark parts of yourself, and work to banish them with illumination and forgiveness. Your willingness to wrestle with your demons will cause your angels to sing. Use the pain as fuel, as a reminder of your strength.' August Wilson."

Forgiveness. Tim had always considered that forgiveness as something he needed to give to others, but now, he began to think of it as something he himself might need. Forgiving himself.

"But how can I?" he whispered to the empty room. "How can I when _I_ know exactly how I felt and what I was thinking? What forgiveness is there in that?"

Wrestling with his demons. Oh, he had so many of those. Most of them memories of his own actions...and the continuing fears bolstered by his nightmares.

_I wish Jewel would just go away,_ he thought and shuddered at the memory of her fingers on his neck.

Use pain as a fuel. The pain of loss...the physical pains... He had plenty of pain. How could that be a fuel? What strength?

Then, he sighed and rubbed his forehead.

"Am I really doing this? Am I really evaluating my life based on a quote?" He laughed humorlessly. "Giving up control. I don't have to control everything and everyone. ...and I can't do it anyway. Why do I keep trying?"

Before he could talk himself out of it, he stood up and walked to the door. A brief pause and then he opened it and walked over to where Tony and Ziva were sitting on the couch talking quietly.

They looked up at him and he almost lost his courage. He opened his mouth for a moment and then closed it without talking.

"What is it, McGee?" Ziva asked, looking concerned.

Tim figured he must look as upset as he felt. He started to turn to leave again, but then he remembered what James had said to him.

"_Do it even though you might not be able to handle it right the first time. Just do it and don't put it off. You won't feel ready, but you never will._"

"I...I..." Tim looked down, away from their questioning eyes.

"_It's all about control, Timothy. You need it...or rather you _think_ you need it. In reality, none of us can control our environments, not to the degree you think you should. You let yourself get into that mindset...it's hard to break out of it, but you should make the effort."_

"McGee?" Tony asked. "You okay?"

"I'm..." The words stuck in his throat and he was annoyed...at himself. "Man...I...I hate this."

"What?"

"I'm afraid of...of..."

Tony and Ziva exchanged glances as Tim again got lost in what he needed to say.

"McGee, if you..."

"I'm afraid of losing control!" Tim burst out...and once he got the hardest sentence out, that seemed to open the floodgates. He couldn't look at them but he began pacing...and talking. "I've had so much control over everything in my life for the last...last couple of years. Everything from the smallest to the greatest. When I was undercover, I _had_ to have everything under control...because if I didn't, I could _die_! ...but then, I lost control of myself, even while I was trying to control everything else. I started to hate everyone and everything in my life until I almost...almost killed myself. Then, it was back to the control again. I had to keep myself in control so that didn't happen, so that I didn't do the kind of things I did, feel the things I felt before. I don't want that. I don't want to be like that again. ...but when I'm...when I'm around you guys...I just don't know what to do...I don't know how to feel. ...and...and it scares me. It terrifies me. I hate what you did. I...I haven't...I can't...let that go...yet...but it's not that I still hate you, not because I'm a...a good person...but because it's too hard to keep hating. It's too hard to be angry for so long. ...and I don't like how I feel when I...when I get mad. I don't like that...it's a feeling of...of _not_ being in control. I don't want to get mad again...ever again. Even with...Lance Corporal Smythe...I was _this_ close to losing it. I hate that...about myself. I have to have everything in control, even if that means that I'm...that I'm not happy. Because I'm not...but that's how it has to be. That's how _I_ have to be because I can't be trusted...to stay in control."

He stopped talking and chanced a glance at them. They were both sitting there...speechless. He let out a laugh that was little short of hysterical.

"That's why I'm such a jerk. If I keep you away...I'm still in control. ...even if I'm miserable. That's the life I need to have."

He waited for a moment longer. Still no response, although he could understand that. It was quite a lot he'd spewed out there.

"That's...That's what I should have said to you before. I don't know when...but before. That's all."

He nodded once and then fled back to his room and closed the door. Shaking, he sat down on the bed and tried regain his precious control of himself.

A few minutes later, there was a soft knock on the door. No longer demanding, no longer a sign of coming conflict. ...but no less frightening for all that.

"Come in," he said quietly and turned away from the door.

"McGee?"

It was Ziva.

"Yeah?"

"May I speak to you for a moment?"

"About what?"

"About what you said to us."

"Not really much else to say."

"Maybe not for you, but there is for us. Will you listen to us this time? Really listen to us?"

"I don't know if I can forgive you yet. I don't know if I'm that good a person."

"I was not going to ask."

"Then, what?"

A pause and then...

"I'm sorry, McGee," Tony said quietly. "For earlier today. I was _trying_ to make you mad. I didn't get it."

"Yeah. That's okay."

"McGee, we made many mistakes."

"Yeah, you did."

"Mistakes that have led to things we cannot fix."

"Yeah."

"Is there anything that we can do...anything that we _can_ fix?"

Tim let out another short laugh. "Sounds like you're offering to help."

"Yes. That is _exactly_ what I am...what _we_ are doing."

"I appreciate that...really. ...but I don't think there's...anything. My life is such a mess right now..._I_ can't see a way to fix it." He took a deep breath. "If...If there's any way you know to get Jewel out of my head."

"Why do you still dream of _her_, why is that she is the symbol for your fears?"

"Because I killed her...and I enjoyed doing it."

A long silence.

"Surprised?"

"Yeah."

"Think how I feel knowing that."

"McGee?" Tony asked.

"Yeah?"

"Thank you."

"For what?"

"For doing that...for us. You must have really hated us back then, but you still saved our lives."

Tim felt his throat tighten. "Yeah...okay."

"I know it's late to be saying it, McGee, but I mean it. Really. I mean it."

"Yeah...okay."

"McGee?"

"Yeah?"

Tim heard a metallic thump on the dresser.

"Here's your typewriter. Try it out."

Then, Tim heard the door close. He waited for a moment longer and then turned around. Tony and Ziva had left. Tim wiped away a tear and looked longingly at his typewriter.


	25. Chapter 25

**Chapter 25**

It was just a typewriter.

An object without life. It was just a thing. It couldn't speak. It couldn't move. It had no personality.

Just a thing.

And it sat in its place, untouched.

It was just a thing. It couldn't want or wish or desire.

...and yet, for all that, it cried out to be used. It begged to be put to the work for which it had been designed.

A lot of care had gone into its restoration. From the time of its purchase from a flea market (along with an old record player) to the present, it had been taken care of. Broken keys had been replaced by genuine parts scavenged from various shops. Ribbons sought out and purchased. The casing had been carefully polished.

Time. Money. Care. All had been expended in large quantities to bring it back to a working state...and once that had been achieved, further time and effort had been taken to keep it that way. A labor of love.

...but it was just a typewriter.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

It was just a desk.

Lovingly-made, yes, but still, at its heart, it was just a desk, just a thing.

It was beautiful. Unique. Nothing could ever possibly be just like it in the world.

Just a thing, sitting in a basement, unused.

Its construction had taken months. There had been false starts, screw-ups. Sometimes, things hadn't worked out just right, requiring steps back. Very few tasks worth completing are done without flaws. The desk had been no exception. The wood was expensive. The metal, costly.

Time. Money. Hard work. ...and care. It was a work of penance, requiring large expenditures of all in order to achieve success. There had been times when its construction had almost been abandoned, when it had been walked away from, derided as a waste of time.

...but always, it had called for completion, and in the end, it could _not_ be abandoned.

Finally, it was finished. Finished...and unused...and yet, appreciated all the same.

...but it was just a desk.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

He was just a man. One of billions in the world. One of millions in the nation. One of thousands working in a position that had challenged him daily. One man among so many that he would make barely a blip on anyone's radar.

Years had gone into his training, and not just in school, not just in law enforcement. A lifetime of experiences had created the man he had been.

...and it had taken only a few months to destroy him. A moment of triumph turned to one of confusion. Reliance turned to bitterness. Bitterness to anger. Life to death. Work to horror.

...but he was just a man.

It had taken time and work...both love _and_ hatred...to create the man he had been. All of that was gone. Lost. Destroyed. Perhaps.

First, the destruction had been accidental. Painful, yes, but not intentional. Then, later, as time and effort and love began to build him again, he was forced down. Locked into dark spaces.

Time and effort were no longer enough. Love was not enough. More was needed. ...but fear was not enough to keep him hidden from view.

...but he was just a man.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

It was just a moment. Just one small second amidst countless seconds in the eons of time.

And yet that one second was the result of hours of preparation, hours of planning, hours of searching. ...and months of anger and fury and a thirst for revenge.

The moment relied on the nature of feeling human beings. The moment required fallibility. ...and was not disappointed. All that it needed, it got.

Just a moment in time.

A moment. A second. One sight.

A smile.

Just a moment.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Why the typewriter? Why the desk? Why the time and money and care? Why the work?

Because it wasn't just a typewriter. It wasn't just a desk.

What was it? A chance. A brief glimpse of sunlight in a dark cavern of misery.

Why? Why the moment? Why the anger? Why the planning?

It wasn't just a moment. It was a culmination of moments. Leading to a moment, a point of no return.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

A typewriter. A desk. A moment.

Why were all these things so very important?

...because he wasn't just a man.

That's why.


	26. Chapter 26

**Chapter 26**

He'd been sitting up on the roof for days now. It took a lot of patience to do this, but he knew they weren't looking for him anymore. He was dead...to them. ...and as long as they didn't find the other body, he could keep them thinking that he'd died in the destruction of his house.

However, he didn't dare do any actual following. He'd managed to track down the building, but finding the right room, the right floor was causing him difficulties. He was slowly eliminating windows. Very slowly. ...but he hadn't gotten where he was without cultivating patience.

A car pulled up to the sidewalk and two men got out. One of them was known to him. He smiled. He'd been watching his target for months. It would be almost as good to get this man as it would to get his actual target. It was tempting to see how much further he could drag his target down before finally removing him. There was no real reason for it, but these people were responsible for blowing his cover, for making his employers attempt to...to "fire" him. Suffering was in order if he could manage it well.

...but how well could he really do it? Once another attempt was made, they might decide to go even farther. Witness Protection, and that was a hard nut to crack, one he didn't want to bother with.

At this point, it was all academic anyway. He didn't know which room his target was in, and until he knew that, he couldn't possibly take him out. They were being too careful about that.

All he needed was a glimpse, just one look at one person and he would know where to focus, but so far, they weren't giving him even that much.

_Ah, but a draw? Would he resist if the one man he trusted was injured?_ That brought another smile to his face. It would only take a moment. They weren't guarding the older man. _He_ wasn't supposed to be in danger. What could he possibly have to do with the trial?

The smile grew. The more he thought about it, the better the idea seemed. Flush out his prey by taking down someone close to him. Not a fatal shot. No, something that would cause fear, panic...guilt. Yes.

It would only take a moment.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Are you certain this is safe, Anthony?" Ducky asked as they walked into the building. "I've been worried about Timothy, but..."

"I'm more worried about McGee's mental health than his physical health, Ducky," Tony said, directing Ducky up the stairs to the third floor. "We've been taking precautions and McGee hasn't left the place since he got here. Even if someone tracked us to this building, which I doubt, they'd still have to find out where we are _in_ the building."

"What's caused your concern?"

"Well...he talked to us a couple of days ago, said that he thinks he _has_ to be miserable, that he can't get mad or he'll lose control. Ducky, I thought that he still hated us, but he says that he can't because it's too hard. It...it doesn't make me feel any better, but I don't think he likes being around Ziva and me and...and I just think that he could use a friendly visitor."

"I would wager that Timothy's emotions are complicated enough right now that assigning a definite label to them is impossible."

"Yeah...he still won't use his typewriter. Just sits there and stares at it. I know he wants to, but he won't."

"Why is his typewriter here?"

Ducky noticed that Tony avoided his eyes.

"Why, Anthony?"

"...well...because McGee pawned it a few months ago...and I bought it back. He didn't want you to know."

"I can understand why."

"Don't tell him I told you, please."

Ducky smiled. "Afraid that he _might_ get angry at you again?"

Tony didn't smile. "No...we've kind of hit a...place where he can at least tolerate being around us all the time. I don't want to screw that up again."

Ducky nodded. "I understand. A beginning must be made somewhere."

Tony smiled then, with relief, and let Ducky into the apartment they were using as a safe house. Ziva was alert and at the ready when they entered but she instantly relaxed.

"Hello, Ducky! I feel as though we have all been exiled. How are you?"

"I am fine, Ziva. Where is Timothy?"

Ziva pointed to the closed door. "The door itself is broken. I am sure that McGee will let _you_ in at any rate."

Ducky chuckled and didn't reply. Instead, he walked over and knocked.

"Timothy?"

No response. Ducky took that to mean "come in" and opened the door. Tim was sitting on the bed, staring at the typewriter. With a sigh, Ducky stepped in and closed the door.

"Timothy, you have people worried about you."

A ghost of a smile crossed Tim's lips.

"Funny how it's all happening now, isn't it?"

Ducky walked over to the bed and sat down beside Tim.

"A fault line will build up more and more pressure with no outward sign, sometimes for years, even centuries. The pressure will continue to build until finally, the two plates will slip, triggering an earthquake, massive destruction, all as a result of building pressure with no release."

Tim smiled slightly, still looking at the typewriter. "So...when does the destruction stop and rebuilding start?"

Ducky turned Tim toward him.

"It stops when the pressure has been released. Days of aftershocks, sometimes causing as much damage as the initial jolt. That's for tectonic plates, Timothy. For human beings, the rebuilding can begin any time the man is ready to start. Are you?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because a lot of the damage is permanent," Tim said, continuing the metaphor. "The infrastructure has been destroyed. It's best to give up and move on."

"I see nothing that has been destroyed, Timothy. I see a man who has fallen, not a man who has been destroyed. The problem is that you're too convinced that you _can't_ get up again. Let yourself believe."

Tim's eyes moved back to the typewriter.

"It would look good on the desk that...that G-Gibbs built."

So few people would realize what a struggle it was for Tim to say that name.

"Yes, it would."

"But my life doesn't have room for it."

"Perhaps it's time to start making room."

There was a long silence and then Tim took a breath...and gave an answer Ducky hadn't expected.

"Maybe it is."

Ducky tried to keep himself from pushing, but he felt a stirring of hope that he hadn't for a long time.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"What did Gibbs say?" Ziva asked.

"About McGee or about the case?"

"Either."

"The guy they found in the house couldn't be Collier."

"Then, who is it?"

"Alexander Donovan."

"But they look so similar."

"Yeah. The resemblance is only skin deep apparently."

"How do they know?"

"Because of when he was released from prison. David Collier showed up when Donovan was still in prison."

Ziva sighed. "So...who was he?"

"Current theory is that he and the other guy Jamie saw in the car were hired to get rid of Collier...a permanent termination of his contract since he had failed to kill McGee, and since we'd tracked him down."

"He was of no further use to them. Is there anything to tie these people to Grant or any of the others?"

"Not so far. Everything was destroyed in Collier's place. Abby's doing her best trying to put some things together. We've even got the FBI helping out with the investigation."

"Gibbs is allowing that?"

"Not willingly, I'm sure. I think Vance forced him."

Ziva nodded knowingly...and then looked at Tony with concern.

"We have not been looking for Collier, Tony. We have assumed he was dead."

"I know. Believe me, I've thought of that. We're looking into moving McGee somewhere else."

"What about Witness Protection?"

"Not going that route at the moment."

"Why not?"

"I think it's because the trial's coming up so soon, but I don't know. They didn't tell me that."

"All right. ...so what about McGee?"

"Gibbs didn't say much. Told me that he'd talked to McGee, that he'd said some of the same things to Gibbs that he said to us. McGee's messed up."

"Yes, Tony. We knew that already."

"No, he's _too_ messed up. You think some of it is an act?"

"An act?"

"Not _all_ of it. I'm just trying to figure out what to do next. We're marking time right now."

Ziva got up and walked to the kitchen.

"I think...I am glad that all this has happened."

"Glad?"

She turned back. "McGee would never have spoken to us if he had not been forced to do so. He would never have bothered. Now, we know that he has been having trouble. We know that he does not hate us, and we know that he has not forgiven us. We also know that he is still struggling against what he himself feels he must do. ...and we can help him."

"Not if he won't let us."

"No, Tony, we _can_ help him. You and I both understand the feeling of needing control. We both know how that feels. It is our fault we did not consider that to be a problem, but now that we know it still is a struggle for him, we can do our best to help."

"Neither of us were ever this bad."

"No, perhaps not, but that is why we are not the only ones who can help. Have you not brought Ducky here for that reason?"

Tony shrugged and smiled.

"It is not an act, Tony. It is someone facing reality and wondering if he can truly bear it."

Ziva said nothing more.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Have you said their names yet?"

Tim shook his head.

"Gibbs is difficult enough for you?"

A nod.

Ducky smiled. "The names have no power over you, Timothy, and you will gain more ground in removing your fear of their names. Try it now while they are absent."

Tim shook his head again.

"Yes, Timothy. Say their names. Whisper them if you like. Just speak the names that frighten you."

Tim swallowed.

"Remember, Timothy, that you _know_ these names have no power over you...except that which you choose to give them."

"I know. I tell myself that...but..."

"Do it now, Timothy. Say their names."

Tim laughed a little. "Seems so stupid."

"It's not."

"I know they're just names."

"Then, say them."

"Tony...Ziva..." Then, he took a breath and laughed at himself.

Ducky smiled and put an arm around his shoulders.

"And the world did not end, nor did you lose your sanity. Well done, lad."

"Kind of pitiful that I reduced that isn't it."

"No. It's not. It _is_ sad, but not pitiful."

"So...what now?"

"One step at a time. I believe that you'll be moved from here soon."

"Why?"

"It appears the man who attacked you at your friend's home was _not_ killed in the explosion that destroyed his home. They wish to be cautious although they are hoping that it is _only_ a precaution."

"Yeah, what are the odds of that?"

"I don't know. I have not been privy to all the conversations. I know you feel cut off here, but time is passing quickly. Things will go as they need to."

"Right. Thanks, Ducky. I really...really..."

"I know, lad. It's all right." Ducky stood, but Tim stood as well and grabbed his arm.

"No, I need to say it. If I need to say...their names, I need to tell you as well."

"What, lad?"

"I've really needed you through all this. If you hadn't been here to help me...I'd probably be dead now, Ducky. Even with how my life has been going, I appreciate that. Thank you."

Ducky hugged Tim quickly.

"Oh, Timothy. I would do it all again. No matter what. I consider it time well spent."

Tim walked with him to the door and actually walked out into the main room with him.

"Ready to go, Ducky?" Tony asked.

"Yes, I believe so."

"All right. Let's get going."

Ducky squeezed Tim's arm and then nodded. Ziva walked with them to the door. Tony opened it and looked out first and then headed out.

"Hey...T-Tony?" Tim said suddenly.

Tony looked back, his eyes widening in surprise.

"Yeah?"

"Thanks...for bringing Ducky here."

Tony paused for a minute and then grinned, almost like he used to. "You never know what I'm gonna do, McGee."

Tim managed a shaky smile.

They walked out.

"Ducky...I never realized until just now how long it's been since he said my name, even while we've been talking to him."

"Yes. I'm surprised he managed it," Ducky said. "It was quite heartening."

"Why is it like this?"

"I don't know, Anthony. Suffice it to say that Timothy is as much of the problem as anyone else. I think the phrase 'his own worst enemy' is appropriate."

Tony smiled and opened the door to the street. One quick glance around and then out.

Ducky walked along with him, glad that he'd been permitted to come.

...and then his mind registered a violent force, throwing him backward and down to the ground. It was quite a surprise and he was trying to figure out what it was when he heard a distant crack and then Tony's voice calling his name. He struggled to understand what had just happened when Tony's face hovered over him.

"Ducky, stay still. I've already called for help. Just stay still."

Ducky blinked at him. He felt no pain as yet and so he wondered what was going on...but one thought came to him.

"This is not Timothy's fault," he whispered.

"I know it's not, Ducky. Just stay still," Tony repeated.

"No...tell _him_."

There was a rushing sound in his ears and darkness crept into his vision.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

He smiled, watching through his scope, aiming at the doorway.

It would only take a moment.

Just one moment.


	27. Chapter 27

**Chapter 27**

The gunshot was audible in the room. Even if she hadn't heard the first one, the second which took out a car window was plainly audible. Ziva turned to direct Tim to secure himself, but she didn't get the chance.

Tim fairly flew out of his room and out of the apartment.

"McGee! No!" she shouted and ran after him.

His speed took her completely by surprise. Tim hadn't shown any real energy in all the time they'd been with him. He hadn't done anything beyond walk around slowly. Even when he'd shouted at them, he'd seemed so...so _slow_. There was nothing slow about him now. Ziva was hard-pressed to catch up with him. It was only at the door to the street that she was able to grab him by the arm.

"Stop, McGee!" she said loudly.

Tim pulled away and got the door open.

A bullet flew through it and Ziva decided that this was _not_ the time to be understanding and kind. She holstered her gun, grabbed Tim and pulled him forcefully back into the protection of the foyer. Then, she shoved him against the wall.

"Are you out of your mind, McGee? Do you not see that this is what he _wants_?"

"Ducky!" Tim said. That was all. Just the name.

Ziva looked out the window and saw Tony crouched down beside Ducky on the ground. She then turned back to Tim who was still struggling slightly to get free.

"If you stay out of sight, he will have no reason to shoot again, McGee," Ziva said. "You _know_ these kinds of tactics. You were an agent! You _know_ these things! Stop being afraid and _think_!"

To her surprise, Tim stopped fighting her arm.

"Help him," he said.

"You must stay inside, McGee," she ordered.

Tim nodded.

"Stay out of sight," she said.

"Go, Ziva."

Ziva drew her gun again and opened the door.

"Tony, can you see where?"

"Roof, I think." Tony said. "Called for an ambulance, but..."

"Where is he hit?"

"It looks bad. I think it got his collarbone."

Ziva watched as Ducky suddenly returned to consciousness and gasped in pain.

"Stay down, Ducky."

Ducky's hand reached out and grabbed Tony's arm. He spoke in a low voice and Ziva saw Tony look slightly exasperated.

"Tell McGee it's not his fault."

"What?"

"Ducky wants you to tell McGee it's not his fault!"

Ziva heard a groan and a thump. She spun quickly back, but Tim had simply slid down to the floor and was hiding his face in his hands.

"I do not think he feels any better, Tony."

"Yeah, big surprise."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

He cursed to himself.

_Too soon! Too soon! _

He knew he'd fired too soon. He'd known it as soon as he'd squeezed the trigger. He hadn't waited for his target's face to come into view. Assuming that it would, he had aimed and fired as soon as the door opened, but there was obviously someone keeping his target back. With a sigh, he began to pack up to leave. He had to get out before backup arrived. Clearly, he wasn't going to get his shot, not this time.

...but he'd left an impression at least. Maybe that would help, make him more careless.

If not, he'd have to show his face sometime. No one could hide forever.

He took one last look through his scope, surveyed his handiwork, smiled coldly and called it a day. It took him less than a minute to dismantle his rifle and get off the roof.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Ziva risked stepping out to the street...but there were no more bullets flying. She sighed in relief and hurried to Ducky and Tony.

"He's still bleeding," Tony said in a low voice. "McGee?"

"I got him to promise to stay inside...but he is not happy."

"Yeah, go figure," he muttered and worked at stopping the bleeding.

He and Ziva worked quietly until they heard the ambulance coming. Ducky opened his eyes only once and then passed out again without speaking.

"He will be all right," Ziva said. "This is not a fatal wound."

"Ducky's no spring chicken," Tony said and then grimaced at the inadvertent pun. "_Any_ wound could be fatal."

"He will live," she said.

"Yeah...when did you become Miss Optimism?"

Ziva only shrugged and then stood, eyes searching the buildings around them to find any remaining threat. It was entirely possible that she would miss something, but she was certain that Collier (if indeed it _had_ been him firing at them) was gone, his opportunity to kill Tim lost.

The EMTs paused before getting out the ambulance but at Ziva's gesture they hurried over to Ducky. Tony quickly told them what had happened. The time spent out in the open air was brief, but Ziva looked back toward the building and then at Tony.

"Go with Ducky," she said. "I will stay with McGee until we decide what to do."

Tony nodded in agreement and headed off with the EMTs and Ducky while Ziva returned to the building. Ducky, as the one in immediate danger, was who she wanted to be with, but Tim still needed protecting...and if he would allow it, likely some comforting as well. With a deep breath, she stepped back inside.

Tim was still sitting on the floor, eyes haunted, staring at nothing.

"McGee?"

Nothing.

"McGee, you should go back to the apartment until we can make arrangements to move you elsewhere."

Tim lifted his eyes to Ziva's and then stood up, saying nothing. He trudged up the stairs, three flights without pause. When he returned the apartment, he didn't go into the bedroom as Ziva had suspected, but into the bathroom. He closed the door, locked it and then Ziva heard the shower turn on.

She knocked on the door.

"McGee?"

No response. For the moment, Ziva decided not to try and force him to talk to her. She stayed in the apartment, on the alert, until she heard people coming up the stairs. She hurried to the door and got ready to fire if necessary.

"Ziva!"

"Gibbs?"

He and Jamie came into view.

"Is he all right?"

"He is unharmed," Ziva said.

Gibbs nodded, understanding what she didn't say.

"Have you heard anything about Ducky?" she asked.

"He's in surgery," Jamie said. "It's serious, but Tony said that the doctors thought he'd make it."

"It was a sniper on the roof of the building across the street. I am not sure which one."

"Okay. We've got Metro on scene," Gibbs said. "Lovitz is still at Collier's place. FBI will probably show up."

"Fornell?"

"If we're lucky."

"McGee can't stay here anymore," Jamie said. "If Collier knows the building, he's in danger as long as he's here."

Gibbs nodded. "I know. Ziva, you all right to stay here for now?"

"Yes. I do not think Collier stayed here to be found."

"Probably not. No reason for him to stick around after he'd failed."

Ziva watched them go and then walked to the bathroom door again.

"McGee?"

The shower was still on. Could he really be showering for that long?

...and the thought triggered a memory. Tim had showered a lot during his time undercover...and often, he had stayed in the bathroom for ages with the water running. They hadn't thought to ask him about it at the time (one more slip-up), but now she wondered if he was really in the shower. For one thing, there was no _reason_ for him to be showering now.

"McGee!" she called.

No response. She wanted to respect his privacy, but she was worried now, too. She picked the lock (easy to do...all she needed was a coat hanger) and opened the door.

Tim was _not_ in the shower. He was fully-clothed and sitting on the toilet seat, head in his hands, shaking violently.

"Tim?"

She heard a deep shuddering breath, but no response otherwise.

"Gibbs said that Ducky will probably be all right."

A whimper escaped, but it was quickly repressed. Tim's hands clenched into fists around strands of hair. Ziva took a chance and touched his shoulder.

"Tim?"

Finally, he lifted his head. Tears streaked his face and his eyes were bloodshot. Then, suddenly, he laughed.

"P-Pretty pitiful sight...aren't I," he said.

"I was not happy about Ducky being shot either, McGee."

Tim shook his head. "But you didn't fall apart, stop thinking. You kept your head...like I used to be able to do."

Ziva looked over at the shower.

"Did you actually get in?"

"No."

She leaned over and turned it off.

"It was just to hide?"

"Yes."

"McGee...when you were undercover..."

"Yes," Tim said, not letting her finish.

"Every time?"

"At night...yes."

"You did not trust us?"

"You already thought I was destined to fail. Why let you see you might be right?" Tim said, but without rancor.

"You heard what Ducky said?"

Tim nodded and wiped at his eyes...as he must have done frequently already.

"Ducky's been...the only one who...who was there. He wouldn't leave me alone. He dealt with me when I would have sooner seen him dead, when I only wanted to destroy myself and everyone around me. He never walked away, not once..." Tim laughed. "...not even when I wanted him to. He wouldn't leave." More tears welled up in his eyes and spilled over onto his cheeks. "I don't...want...not now. I don't want him to die...because he wouldn't leave."

Ziva felt a sudden surge of regret at Tim's words. She had often wondered why it was Ducky Tim had clung to. Even though Abby wasn't among those receiving blame for what had happened, it was really only Ducky who had received Tim's trust. Now, she knew the reason...because Ducky had refused to give up on him, because Ducky hadn't walked away from someone who had felt utterly abandoned to the point that he had turned his back on everyone. At this point, did it matter whether or not Tim _had_ been abandoned by them all? Not really. Even if he accepted that there had been instances when they had cared and he had pushed them away, they were all still paying the price for what had happened. They couldn't go back and change it now.

"He will not die, Tim."

"Well..." Another false smile. "...you've been right more than I have. I should probably believe you."

"What do you mean?"

"You and Tony...you didn't think I could handle being undercover. You were right. I couldn't. Isn't it obvious? People died. I killed someone. I broke the rules. I lost my mind...nearly killed myself. Lost my job. I'm still paying for it months later. Not what I'd call a raging success...would you?"

"Perhaps not, but you still saved us, and took down the drug ring."

"Not yet. There's still the trial...and my being the lead investigator has only made it harder."

"McGee..."

Tim stood up. "I guess I'll go sit in my room...and wait."

Ziva let him walk out of the bathroom, but when she heard the bedroom door close, she pulled out her phone.

"Gibbs?"

"_Yeah?"_

"Could we take McGee to the hospital to see Ducky?"

"_It's running a risk."_

"More than keeping him here where his location is definitely known?"

"_And the people at the hospital?"_

"It does not need to be forever, but McGee needs to see that Ducky will recover."

There was a brief silence as Gibbs considered it.

"_All right. Have him at the back entrance in five minutes."_

"Yes, Gibbs." Ziva hung up and walked to the bedroom. She opened the door without knocking.

Tim jumped and turned to look at her.

"Come, McGee. We are moving you now."

Tim only nodded and began to follow without speaking. Ziva took it slowly, moving him down to the first floor without any rush.

Ziva pulled out her phone.

"Gibbs? We are in position."

"_Thirty seconds."_

Ziva hung up and waited the indicated time and then opened the door. Gibbs was just pulling up. Ziva opened the back door, nearly pushed Tim inside and then climbed in the front.

"Lay on the seat, McGee," Gibbs ordered.

Again, Tim docilely followed instructions without any comment. Gibbs looked at Ziva who simply shrugged. They drove away.


	28. Chapter 28

**Chapter 28**

The ride to the hospital was uneventful and silent. Tim was halfway toward protesting when he realized where they were taking him, but he subsided before he even got a word out. ...because they were taking him where he really wanted to go. He needed to see Ducky, to know that he was going to be okay.

When they got to the hospital, Tim allowed himself to be shepherded into an isolated room. They told him to stay there until Ducky was out of recovery and in a room. Then, they left him alone. Tim sat for a few minutes, just sat there, trying to control himself, trying to keep from freaking out again.

He hadn't even _seen_ Ducky. Tim didn't know how he had been so sure that Ducky had been shot. All he had thought from the moment he heard the shot was that someone else had been hurt because of him...and it was Ducky. If Ziva hadn't pulled him back at that moment...

_...I'd be dead. Admit it, Tim. She saved your life._

...and he had actually spoken to her, had admitted to his weakness, his incredible wussiness, the fact that, in spite of all his bluster and rage, they had been right after all. All of this was really his own fault, not theirs. He had confessed the truth...and he knew that he had no right to feel the way he had felt. It was hard to admit it after so long. It was hard to know that it was all his fault. His anger and resentment had been so much easier to deal with than the fact that he was to blame.

_If I'd only said it myself. If I'd only done what I knew was the right thing to do...none of this would have happened. Ducky wouldn't be recovering from surgery right now...if only I hadn't been such an idiot. Lance Corporal Smythe would still be alive if I hadn't been there to make him a target. So many people would be alive right now who died...who were killed...because of me._

...and here he was now, sitting in a room, waiting for a chance to comfort _himself_, to reassure _himself_ that Ducky was okay.

_You're pathetic, Tim._

The door opened without a knock and Gibbs came inside. Tim looked at him and then away...and then back to him, a question on his tongue...but he couldn't speak it. Gibbs seemed to know.

"He's been put in a room, but he's still pretty out of it."

Tim nodded mutely.

"You want to see him?"

Another nod.

"Come on, then."

Tim stood and meekly followed Gibbs down the hall. He made a little noise of surprise when they arrived at Ducky's room. The sight of two members of hospital security standing outside was just one more indication of what he'd wrought.

"We don't really think Collier will come after Ducky again, but it's best to safe."

Tim nodded again. His voice wouldn't seem to work.

"Go on," Gibbs said. "We're still working out where to take you after."

"–kay."

Tim walked forward into the room. It was quiet, the lights dim enough that, when Ducky opened his eyes, he wouldn't be blinded.

It wasn't fair. It wasn't right. Ducky should _never_ be like this. Ducky should _never_ be targeted like this. It was wrong! Tim walked forward and sat down beside the bed.

"Ducky?" he whispered.

No response. Tim felt his throat tighten.

"I'm...I'm really sorry...about this." The tears came again. He hadn't felt this much anguish since first seeing his father and knowing that he'd be paralyzed for the rest of his life. "It shouldn't have happened. You've got to be okay. You have to."

The EKG continued to beep quietly. There was no ventilator...which Tim guessed was a good thing.

He took one of Ducky's hands in his own, looked at the IV running out of his hand and back to a drip of something.

"Not fair. It's not fair. Ducky...it's not _fair_!"

The hand he was cradling tensed slightly and Tim looked at Ducky's face.

Ducky's eyes opened slightly. They moved around the room and then fastened on Tim. He smiled and squeezed Tim's hand.

"Hello, lad," he said softly.

Tim tried to smile, but the tears just wouldn't let him. Ducky reached out and patted Tim's shoulder.

"I'm all right, Timothy. Are you?"

"I'm...f-f-fine, Ducky. I'm fine," Tim said, but he couldn't keep it up and he dropped his head and started to sob. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry about this. It's shouldn't have happened to you."

"Well, I should say _not_," Ducky said managing to infuse some humor into his weakened voice. "...but neither should it have happened to you."

Tim shook his head. "He was only shooting at you to get me."

"True, but since he is a vicious killer, we will not use his actions to determine who deserves what."

Tim managed to laugh through his tears.

"You hear me, Timothy?"

"Yeah."

"Good. Now...I think I will sleep some more. You should do the same."

Tim looked at Ducky, saw the concern in his eyes...and told the first lie to Ducky that he had in months.

"Okay...I'm going to stick around here for a bit and then I'll sleep."

...and it was probably only the pain killers and his injury that had Ducky accepting Tim's statement with a weary nod. He closed his eyes and was asleep in seconds.

Tim looked at him and felt something different inside him. He wasn't tired. He didn't want to sleep.

...but he was feeling angry, angry that someone had decided to injure this wonderful man for what _Tim_ had done. Tony had wanted him to get mad, but while Tim had felt frustrated and afraid, he hadn't really been angry. Now, he was starting to feel mad. In fact, he started to shake he was so upset. He just sat there, the helpless fury building inside him.

Ducky slept, seemed peaceful even, but Tim sat for an unknown period getting more and more upset and angry about what had happened...at the fact that it _kept_ happening.

The door opened behind him, but he didn't move. If it was one of the team, he didn't want to see them. If it was someone coming to finish the job, he didn't really care. If it was anyone else, they were harmless and didn't matter.

No reason to turn around.

"Tim?"

It was Abby.

"How's Ducky doing?"

Like he'd been struck by lightning, thoughts surged through his mind. Abby...NCIS...Collier...investigation...

Tim turned quickly and looked at Abby and was surprised when she actually stepped back a bit.

"Tim, what's wrong?"

"Abby...I need...I need to go to NCIS."

"What? Why?"

"I need to go. I need to find where he is. Why haven't you found him yet?"

"Who?"

"Collier!" Tim said. "We know it's him! We know _why_! We know _who_! Why can't you find him and _stop_ him?"

"Tim, we're _trying_! We don't have any evidence tying him to those drug dealers. We _don't_. Don't you think we've been trying to find them and stop them?"

Tim shook his head. "Take me to NCIS."

"Why, Tim?"

"So I can find him."

"Tim..." Abby said and was actually at a loss for words for a few seconds. "Tim...you're...you're not working there anymore. The case...what if it compromises the case?"

"I'm a consultant. You can be right there."

"What about Ducky?"

Tim looked back over his shoulder. "He's safer without me here. They said he'd be fine. He needs to sleep anyway. Please, take me to NCIS."

Abby was weakening. Tim could see it in her eyes. She _wanted_ to, but she wasn't sure she should. Tim knew she shouldn't, but he didn't care. He had a focus for his rage. He had a target, and he needed to find it and stop it.

"Please, Abby. I'll beg if I have to."

Abby looked away from him for a moment.

"We can take the sedan. It's here. They don't know where to take me anyway. NCIS is probably the safest place for me."

There it was. Tim knew he'd won before Abby nodded reluctantly. NCIS as a place of safety. That had convinced her.

"Okay...okay, Tim. I'll take you to NCIS."

"Good." Tim paused for a moment as he stood up. He looked at Ducky and remembered coming to his house in a daze with only one thought in his head: Ducky would keep him safe.

...and Ducky always had.

Tim leaned over and whispered, "I knew you could save me, Ducky. That's why I came to you that day. The part of me that wanted to be saved...that part knew that you would save me. I always knew."

Then, he turned around.

"Let's go."

Abby nodded and they left the room together.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

The ride to NCIS was tense, but again, uneventful. Abby was very tense as she drove. Tim wasn't. He knew they'd make it. ...and they did. Abby parked and they went inside, down to her lab.

"Show me what you've already done."

"Tim, I'm not sure this is a good idea."

"Show me!" Tim demanded angrily.

Abby flinched.

"Okay. Everything Collier had in his house was torched. There was a laptop but it's melted. I've been trying to see if I can get anything off it. No luck so far. There was no evidence of money being stashed in the house. He must have an account somewhere, but we don't know where it is. We've been watching his phone, his credit cards. We've got a BOLO out on him, but no hits. We're doing what we can."

Tim nodded and sat down at the computer. For just a moment, it was like no time had passed. He was getting ready to work his computing magic and find what needed to be found even if they didn't have anything to tell them where to go.

"Tim!"

He looked at her.

"We need to stop him, Abby. Before he can kill anyone else. We need to stop him. Ducky could have died today and all he was trying to do was draw me out. He wasn't trying to kill Ducky."

"How do you know?"

"Because he doesn't kill when he doesn't think it's necessary," Tim said. "He tried to mug me once. He was watching me. He followed me around. ...but he never killed until...until Lance Corporal Smythe, and there was a reason for that." The thought make him ill, but he pressed on. "They were trying to discredit me as a witness, as the investigator. All the evidence I gathered would be suspect if I was accused of murder. They could play on my mental breakdown. So there was a reason. Then, when it became clear that I wasn't a suspect, that it had failed, that they were on to him...then...then, I was a target. It won't get rid of the evidence, but it will put the case on shakier ground because I'm the one who gathered it all and they wouldn't have anyone to stand up and interpret it all. Now, he wanted to draw me out, and he knew..." Tim felt his lower lip shake and he strove to stop it. "...he knew who would be the one that could get me putting myself in the open. He knew...and if...if Z-Ziva hadn't been there to stop me, I'd be dead, because it would have worked. He wasn't trying to kill Ducky. He was trying to kill me. Ducky was just the means to an end. We can't let that happen anymore."

Abby didn't answer him directly. Instead, she stepped close to him and hugged him tightly. Tim couldn't bring himself to hug her back, but after a few seconds, she let him go...and turned him toward the computer.

"Go for it, Tim. Find him if you can."

Tim nodded and plunged into the world of electronics, of internet connections...and bank accounts. Someone had to be paying Collier...and there weren't too many people on the list.

_I'll find you,_ Tim promised silently. _You won't hide from me forever._


	29. Chapter 29

**Chapter 29**

"_Abby, try to make sense,"_ Gibbs said sternly.

Abby looked worriedly at Tim who was still sitting at the computer typing madly away.

"I told you, Gibbs! You guys need to come over here and do something about Tim!"

"_Like you did when you snuck out of the hospital and didn't bother to tell us where you were going?"_

"I left you a message!" Abby protested.

"_You should have said something _to_ me, Abby, and you know it,"_ Gibbs said firmly.

"I knew you'd say no."

"_And what are you doing with him that you need us there?"_

"I...well, I let him..."

"_Let him _what_?"_

"I let him work on finding Collier," Abby confessed. "But before you yell at me, you didn't see him! He was so mad about what happened to Ducky. I was actually a little scared, but I've been here the whole time, Gibbs. He's not doing anything wrong. It's just that I can't get him to stop. He's been working on it for ages and he won't stop! You know how he could tune people out and just focus on the computers? Well, that's what he's doing now, but he's kind of scary, Gibbs...and I think he should stop for now, but I'm...I'm afraid to be the one to do it."

She heard the sigh.

"Really, Gibbs. Someone needs to come. I don't want to be the one to do it."

"_Abby..."_

"Please? Yell at me later and come and help now."

"_Okay. We're going to look on Ducky and then we'll be over. If he does stop, make sure he stays there and doesn't go anywhere else. Remember that he's the one people are trying to kill."_

"I know, Gibbs. I will."

Abby hung up and looked at Tim still sifting through layer after layer of information. She had tried a time or two to talk with him, but after the first hour, he had stopped responding. She had got food and set it by him...and he had eaten it but without really noticing it. His body had registered that there was food to be eaten and had done so...mostly without the participation of his mind. Every so often, he'd stop typing and just stare at the monitor, sometimes for as long as a minute. When that happened, Abby would say his name, hoping that he'd hear her, but he never did. He just started typing again.

There was a pause.

"Timmy?" she whispered.

Nothing. Just another click of the mouse, another window, another screen.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"So they _are_ at NCIS?" Tony asked in exasperation.

"Yeah. McGee's working on tracking down Collier."

"Boss!" Tony said.

"I know."

"But he is safe?" Ziva asked.

"Yeah. Probably safest for him there right now anyway. She says he won't stop working."

"That sounds like McGee," Tony said and paused. "Like the real McGee, not..."

"Who he has been," Ziva finished quietly.

"We're going over after we check on Ducky."

The other two nodded and they headed to Ducky's room. Ducky's doctor was just coming out. He looked slightly exasperated that they were coming to disturb his patient, but Gibbs had already had it out with him once that day and he said nothing.

Tony smiled but remained silent also.

When they got into the room, however, they all were quiet. In spite of his doctor's assurances that Ducky would recover, seeing him like this was still shocking. Still...wrong.

Gibbs sat down beside him. He was sleeping, but Gibbs decided that he needed to wake up for a moment.

"Duck?"

Tony and Ziva both sat down as well, staying quiet.

After a few seconds, Ducky opened his eyes. They didn't quite focus at first but eventually, they rested on Gibbs.

"What is it, Jethro? Is Timothy all right?"

"He's fine," Gibbs said.

"No, he's not."

"How do you know?"

Ducky winced a little and then reached out and grabbed Gibbs by the wrist.

"Because...Timothy is not fine on the best of days. Why do you think I have...spent so much time with him? He needs someone watching out for him, Jethro. I can't do it right now. You have to."

"He won't want me...or any of us, Ducky. You know that. He doesn't trust us."

Ducky closed his eyes, clearly fighting the painkillers and sedatives.

"Of course not. You haven't stuck with it long enough for him to try it. Do you think I have his trust because I showed him once? It was hard...very hard...and there was no reason for him to question me. It will be harder for you...but he knows."

"Knows what?"

"What he needs. Don't let him fall back into the trap of blaming himself."

"_Back_ into it?" Tony asked. "He was blaming _us_, remember?"

Ducky smiled wearily. "Only partially. He also blamed himself, for what happened to him, for what happened to the people around him, for the things he did and didn't do. It will be harder for him to forgive himself than it will be to forgive you. So...watch him."

"Okay."

"I mean it, Jethro," Ducky said, momentarily becoming fully alert. "You can't be aloof this time."

"Okay, Ducky," Gibbs said. "I hear you."

"Do you?"

"Yes."

"Are _you_ all right, Ducky?" Ziva asked.

"I will survive...although I do wish that these attackers would stop targeting the parts of my body I need to do my job." He smiled and closed his eyes again.

"Don't worry, Ducky," Tony said. "You just work on getting better. That will help McGee a lot more than anything we could do."

Ducky didn't open his eyes, but he spoke one last time, clearly on the way to unconsciousness.

"Ah, Anthony, you truly have misunderstood. It was the mistake I made at the beginning. It is the mistake Timothy has made. Thinking there is nothing you can do...or that...what you can do will never be enough..."

Then, Ducky sighed and he was asleep again.

"Boss?" Tony asked.

"Let's go," Gibbs said and stood.

Ducky wasn't the real target. There were people here to watch over him medically and security-wise. Tim had to be their focus for the time being.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Time passed in a haze for Tim. He only wanted to find the proof that Collier had been hired by the drug dealers he'd investigated. If he could do that, then they could arrest him _and_ the drug trial would be that much easier.

He had to focus on that. He _had_ to. ...because every time he stopped, he could almost see Jewel laughing at him, could almost _feel_ her stroking his neck with a fingernail, could almost hear her saying what he knew.

"_You're just like me, Mac. Nothing you can do will change how black you are. You put on a pretty face...but it only covers how ugly you are inside."_

Funny how words she'd never spoken could fall so naturally from her lips in his imagination.

...but whenever he remembered what he'd done before, the mistakes he'd made...the crimes he'd committed...it was always Jewel who reminded him.

"_People die to protect you, Mac. How many more will you let die just because you need to be safe? How many people will rearrange their lives just to keep you happy?"_

"No more," Tim whispered, but his voice was so soft no one could have heard it unless they were standing right beside him.

He refocused on the screen again. Anything to get away from Jewel, anything to stop remembering how weak and hurt Ducky had looked in that hospital bed.

Suddenly, he was vaguely aware of voices elsewhere...they must be real voices. He knew they weren't memories...because they weren't Jewel. ...but they weren't where he was...they were somewhere else, part of another world.

"_How long has he been like this?"_

"_Since we got here."_

"_When was that? It is after midnight now."_

"_This afternoon."_

"_Abby, why didn't you call us before?"_

"_I don't know! Look at him!"_

"_Okay."_

Then, Tim felt something...something stopping his work. A hand covering his and pulling it away from the mouse. No. No, that wouldn't do. He moved his hand back.

"_Just do it, Abbs."_

"_Gibbs...are you sure that's a good idea?"_

"_Do it."_

Suddenly, the screen disappeared. The work he'd been doing vanished. It was as though someone had slapped him. Tim jumped.

"Where'd it go?" he gasped...before realizing that was about the stupidest thing he could have said. The monitor was off. He blinked a few times and then looked around. Tony, Ziva and Gibbs were there...along with Abby. Looking at him. Concerned, perhaps? Or was it just worry that he'd lost it again? Or irritation that he was doing something he shouldn't have been doing? He couldn't tell.

"McGee, it's past midnight."

Tim blinked a few more times. It was as though he'd been forced into another dimension and he was having trouble assimilating.

The concern became more pronounced on their faces as he stared.

"McGee, are you okay?"

"Yeah. Fine," he managed.

Uncomfortable, he searched for the one person who didn't make him worry. He saw Abby standing to the side and he smiled at her, but she too was looking frightened.

"Did you find anything?" Gibbs asked.

Tim pulled his eyes back.

"Nothing concrete...yet. I will," he said and though he had meant it to sound stubborn and certain, it came out sounding weak and tired.

"Fine. Get some sleep."

Sleep. No. No, he didn't want to sleep. He knew that he should, but there was no Ducky to run to if the dreams got as bad as he was sure they would. He couldn't go to Matt. He couldn't go home. Abby was good, but she wasn't Ducky.

He shook his head. "No. I'm not tired."

That was a lie. He was exhausted. He was almost asleep now, even with his tension and anxiety. Even with his fear.

Gibbs looked over toward Abby. Tim tried to keep up with the nonverbal messages being passed around but he couldn't seem to engage his brain enough to do it.

Abby came over to him, but Tim found that he was startled when she touched his arm. He knew she was there, but she had startled him. Why? He looked at her.

"Come on, Tim. I have the futon all rolled out. Just for you."

"No," Tim said. He stood up, but he started to sway and sat back down on the stool. "No, I don't want to."

Abby looked away from him for a moment but before Tim could decide to follow her gaze, her eyes came back to him and she smiled. She put an arm around his waist, urging him to his feet and away from the computer.

"No," he said again. "I don't...want...to go."

"Just into my office. It's nice and quiet and you can lay down."

Tim blinked slowly and focused on walking where she wanted him to go...even though he didn't want to go there himself. His brain was just so sluggish. He couldn't get himself on track again.

"Come on, Tim."

The door to her office slid open and Tim jumped again. Abby's arm tightened around his waist.

"I've got you, Tim. It's okay."

A few more steps and Abby began urging him to lie down. He kept shaking his head, but his body disagreed and nearly collapsed onto the futon.

"That's it. Just lay down and rest, Tim. You need to sleep."

"No. I don't want to."

"You _need_ it, Tim. You're ready to pass out."

"I know what I'll see when I sleep. I don't..."

"What will you see?"

That was Gibbs' voice, but Tim couldn't summon the energy to look for him.

"Ducky...dying...and Jewel killing him. I don't need...don't want to sleep."

...but his eyes were closing.

"I'll be right here, Tim," Abby said, stroking his hair. "I won't leave you alone. I'm right here."

He couldn't fight the need anymore. Not while lying down on a soft surface with Abby gently urging him to what he was trying to resist.

"Sleep, Tim," Gibbs said. "For a few hours."

Tim made one last bid to deny that he needed it...but he fell asleep before he could say anything more.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Abby looked worriedly at the others as Tim finally relaxed into sleep.

"Jewel killing Ducky?" she whispered.

"You all right to stay with him for now?" Gibbs asked, not responding to Abby's question.

Abby nodded. "I'm tired, too. I'll just sleep here. Won't be the first time."

"Did he get anywhere?"

"He's been looking at financial records for the last few hours," Abby said, "but he didn't tell me specifically what he was looking for. I guess he had a plan in mind, but he wasn't sharing."

"Okay. If his dreams are as bad as he says..."

"They are," Tony said. "He screamed in his sleep a few times while we were with him."

"...then, he may not sleep through the night. Don't try to force him if he insists, but hopefully, he'll sleep for a while."

"How's Ducky?" Abby whispered.

"Sleeping mostly. It will take time, but he'll recover eventually. He's more worried about McGee. Let's try to keep him from working himself to death."

"Right," Abby said and looked back at Tim who twitched a few times before relaxing again. "He won't stop until he's found Collier. He had that look."

"Then, we'll just have to keep him from going too far."

"Can we?"

"Yes, we can," Ziva said before Gibbs could. "Even if he gets angry at us for it, we can do that much."

Abby nodded and bit her lip. Tim twitched again and then a soft moan escaped from his lips. She leaned over him.

"It's okay, Tim. I'm right here. Just sleep."

He relaxed again.

Abby looked at the other three once more and then settled down beside Tim, hoping that he'd sleep for a long time.

...knowing that he probably wouldn't.


	30. Chapter 30

**Chapter 30**

"_I can see right through you, Mac. You're just like me."_

Tim watched in horror as the gun came up and Jewel started to fire. Bullet after bullet. She never stopped. Tim tried to stop her, but then the dream morphed...as it always did... into him firing and Jewel standing behind him, whispering in his ear.

"_You can't fool me, Mac. We're just the same."_

Tim inhaled sharply and came awake, managing not to scream, but not able to stop the tears. He felt an arm across his chest and he looked over to see Abby asleep beside him. She hadn't been awakened by his inhalation. Wide awake and needing to get to a place where he could let it out, Tim carefully slid himself out from under Abby's arm. She stirred but didn't awaken.

He had no idea what time it was, but it didn't really matter. He wasn't sleeping anymore. Not until he had assuaged his guilt. Only then did he feel he could face his unconscious mind again. Carefully, he crept to the door. He knew that the sound of it opening might wake Abby up, but he had to chance it. He could feel the need to...to do _something_ building up in his chest and he had to let it out.

Abby didn't even move when the door slid open. Tim walked out into the lab and closed the door behind him. It appeared empty, but that didn't matter. Tim just walked out of the lab and into the corridor. Then, he leaned against the wall, slid down to the floor and began to sob. He drew his knees to his chest, feeling a bit of a twinge from his bruised ribs but not caring enough to stop.

It didn't matter that it was only a dream. It didn't matter that Ducky didn't blame him, that he wasn't really dead. None of that mattered compared to the feeling he felt when he was confronted anew with that dark part of himself. That was what kept him from sleeping at times like this. He cried silently, having learned to do so with the thin walls of his apartment, but the force of his tears shook his whole body.

The problem was that there was no Jethro with his constant devotion, no Ducky with words of wisdom, no Matt with unquestioning support...no one here to tell him that what he felt was wrong, not even Dr. Lewis with his professional and yet comforting demeanor. He knew that everyone was more worried about keeping him alive, but Tim actually wished that he could talk to Dr. Lewis. Today would be his regularly scheduled appointment. He assumed that someone had told him that Tim wouldn't be there. He wouldn't be there, and no one was here to say what he knew was true. ...because the problem was that when he said it to himself, it felt like a hollow lie, something said to make one feel better, not something that was true. ...and Abby would say it whether she thought it was true or not. Abby was one of those people who wanted to make others feel better. Tim knew she was sincere...but it didn't mean she was right, and she still didn't know all that he had done. He had kept that truth from her.

...and there was Jewel. He didn't know when it was that she had taken the place of that black part of his soul...but she was there...

Tim felt alone, isolated. He felt like one of the bad guys. He had to do something to fix things.

Finally, he felt as though he could get up off the floor. He walked back into Abby's lab, wiping the tears away.

Back to the computer. Back to work. Work to take the place of the pain, of the guilt. ...but even as he dove back into the finances of the drug dealers, he couldn't help but remember Jewel, standing behind him, trying to make sure that he wasn't screwing things up...touching his neck to remind him that she was there.

_Forget about her. She's dead. Long time dead._

Yes, she was. Tim knew that...but it still didn't matter.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

It was about six-thirty in the morning when Gibbs woke up. It was one of those times when the shift from sleeping to waking was so abrupt that it felt as though someone had thrown cold water on him. He sat up in his chair and looked around, instantly alert for whatever non-existent sound had disturbed his slumber.

Tony was asleep at his desk, as was Ziva at her own. Neither of them had slept in their own beds for more than a week. Gibbs was already toying with the idea of just keeping Tim here until they could track Collier down. He wasn't sure it was feasible, but it would keep Tim safer than he would be out there.

Then, just as he was about to decide that he hadn't actually heard anything, a soft tread intruded on his consciousness. He stood and looked across the bullpen...

...to see Tim getting onto the elevator.

Without bothering to wonder what he was doing, where he was going, or anything of the kind, Gibbs hurried over, but the doors closed before he could get on. Not to be stopped by that, Gibbs sprinted down the stairs and beat the elevator to the first floor.

The doors opened and Tim got out, heading for the exit.

"McGee, where do you think you're going?"

Tim stopped, looked back over his shoulder at Gibbs and then kept walking without speaking.

"McGee!"

Gibbs strode over, grabbed Tim by the arm and pulled him back.

"Let me go," Tim said in a low voice.

"Why?"

"There's no reason for me to stay."

"Yes, there is. Collier's still out there, McGee. He'll try to kill you if he sees you."

"I know. I'm counting on it."

Gibbs furrowed his brow and then yanked Tim firmly back away from the doors.

"Why?"

"Because..." Tim tried to pull away from Gibbs' grip but he couldn't. Gibbs realized that Tim had yet to look him in the eye. His gaze was toward the floor, his eyes hooded. "...because it would be better that way."

"What would be better? Collier killing you?"

"Yes."

The blunt agreement took Gibbs by surprise.

"You have a death wish, McGee?"

"It would be better."

"For whom?"

"Everyone."

Another surprise.

"How," he said flatly, not really asking.

"You know how," Tim said, his voice still low, quiet...that annoying tone that reflected his determination never to get angry again, the tone that showed his need to suppress his emotions. ...the tone that showed how little trust he had for the people currently around him.

Gibbs redoubled his grip on Tim's upper arm, an arm that had quite a bit of muscle tone still...but was a lot thinner than he thought it would be, and pulled Tim back to the elevator, pushed the button to open the doors and glared at Tim, annoyed at this turn of events...and afraid that he now had a suicidal man on his hands.

His worry and fear fueled his next action...which was to essentially throw Tim into the elevator, slam the button to send it back to the bullpen, turn it off and then slam Tim against the wall of the elevator. Tim groaned a little and Gibbs was chagrined that he'd forgotten Tim's injuries, but he didn't back down.

"Why would you being killed by Collier be better for everyone, Tim?" he demanded.

Tim said nothing. He wouldn't look Gibbs in the eye and he wouldn't speak. Gibbs let him go and Tim slid down to the floor of the elevator...a perfect picture of misery.

"Why? Haven't you thought about the case at least? We need you for the trial." he asked again, modulating his tone to sound less confrontational.

Again, there was silence and Gibbs wondered if Tim really could articulate a good reason. It seemed ridiculous that he could honestly believe it on logical grounds. Emotional, perhaps, but not logical.

"A...A few months ago..." Tim said softly...and then stopped.

Gibbs sighed and sat down across from Tim.

"What?"

"I had a meeting with the prosecutors to go over my testimony. I left, but I forgot something so I went back. They were talking...about me. One of them said that it would have been better if I had been killed in the crossfire."

"That's not true."

Tim lifted his head and Gibbs looked into his eyes...but he didn't see what he thought he'd see. Instead of sadness, he saw anger, fear, disgust, guilt. ...there was nothing so tame as mere sadness...but it was only in his eyes because he couldn't hide it. It wasn't because he _wanted_ Gibbs to see what he was feeling.

"Yes, it is true," Tim said with little emotion. "Think about it...if you haven't already. If I had died, they'd have all the evidence still."

"But it's not as sure without the person who gathered it."

"When that person is of sound mind, yes. I'm not. I haven't been for nearly two years. With me alive, they have to deal with the defense poking holes in the evidence based on the fact that the person who gathered it not only had a psychological meltdown but also became violent, irrationally angry and engaged in questionable behavior during and after his time undercover. They have to bring in experts to show that I'm not crazy. They have to justify my existence. If I'm dead, they don't have to do that anymore."

"What about Collier?"

"I found it."

Gibbs looked at him. "Found what?"

"The proof that he was paid by Grant and the others. I found the account they used, one that wasn't frozen by the courts. I left step-by-step instructions on how I found it so that there'd be no question. Don't you see?" A tang of earnestness came into his voice. "If Collier kills me, then you have proof that what I did and what I found was serious enough for them to hire someone. If I'm dead, there's no worry about my mental status. The trial would be a lock. You'd have Collier, and you'd have the drug dealers. ...and you wouldn't have me to worry about."

Logical. Gibbs was annoyed...but at himself this time. He'd, once again, underestimated Tim's ability...because of his continually shaky mental status, forgetting that he hadn't lost his intelligence.

"Even _if_ I could accept your reasoning about the case," Gibbs began, infusing heavy doubt into his words, although he couldn't fault Tim's logic as far as the trial was concerned, "that still doesn't make it better for everyone."

Now that he'd begun, Tim seemed to feel no reticence about continuing. Still, there was little emotion in his voice as he laid out all the reasons it would be better for him to die a violent death. He might as be giving the weather forecast.

"It's hard to know me," Tim said. "It's hard being a friend of mine. Just ask Matt. Just ask Ducky. They know. Matt has always said that I'm a friend worth having, but I'm a hard friend to have, especially in the last two years. Matt has opened his home to someone who regularly wakes up screaming in the night, who freaks out at the simplest things, who still gets angry without a good reason. He's had his whole life turned upside down in the last month. He wouldn't have if I was dead."

Gibbs was going to comment, but Tim continued on.

"Ducky has done the same. He's put his life on the line for me. He's in the hospital right now and he wouldn't be if I was dead. I put him through so much. It was hard for him to deal with me, but he did it...mostly without any expression of gratitude on my part, especially in the beginning. I'm dead...no more trouble."

Even when talking about Ducky's current status, Tim expressed almost no emotion.

"Sarah has spent too much time worrying about me. So have my parents. I try to call them every week or two to let them know that I'm okay...even if I'm not. They're always worried and always relieved when I call. Sure, it would be hard for them if I died, but after a while, I'd just be a small source of grief rather than a constant drain."

Tim looked down now.

"Then, there's you...and the others here."

"What about us?" Gibbs asked.

"You feel bad...now...about what happened...before. Every time any of you looks at me, I see it in your eyes. ...but I can't forgive you. I just can't. As hard as it is to keep hating you, it's a lot harder to forgive, and I can't do it. And you all know it. What you want from me is impossible."

"What do we want?"

"You want what I want...things to be normal. They can't be...but if I was dead...if I _had_ died back then, you'd have been saved a lot of grief. If I died now, you could stop pretending to care and go on with your lives because I wouldn't be around to remind you anymore. No protecting a stranger you don't like. No trying to prove anything. No me."

"And what about you? Is this what _you_ want?"

"No more nightmares. No more trying to get better. No more wishing for what can't happen."

Gibbs looked at Tim's bowed head. There was certainly strong emotion, but there was that annoying strain of logic carrying it along. Gibbs heartily disagreed with Tim's solution, but he had to admit that most of what he had given as evidence wasn't wrong. Those were the hardest things to get around...those logical pieces that underpinned Tim's decision.

"I won't pretend that a lot of what you said isn't true, McGee. I can't. I'm sure that it's been hard for your friends and your family. It's true that we feel like you're almost a stranger, a different person. The trial might be harder with you being as you are."

Tim's shoulders hunched.

"...but none of that means that it would be better if you were dead. No one, not your family, not Ducky, your friend Matt, not Abby or Jimmy...none of them want you dead."

Still nothing.

"...and we don't want it either."

"Don't lie," Tim whispered.

"I'm not. Do I wish that I could figure out what to do to make things right again? Yes. Do Tony and Ziva wish they could take back some of the things they said? Yes. Do we wish you'd forgive us? Yeah. ...but that means that we want you around. It does _not_ mean that we wish you were dead."

Tim shook his head.

"It doesn't have to be like this, Tim. It really doesn't. I don't know how you convinced yourself that it does, but it doesn't."

"It does."

"No! You don't have to die for things to work out...and you don't have to make yourself miserable either. Knocking yourself down won't change what happened two years ago."

No response, and Gibbs began to see what Ducky meant by things being hard, by Tim's assertion that he was a hard friend to have. In the depths of his despair, he was more stubborn than anyone Gibbs had ever known. It would be easier to give up...as he had before...but he couldn't, not now that he'd been granted a look into the possibility of Tim recovering...which he hadn't yet.

"Lance Corporal Smythe wouldn't be dead if I hadn't been there. Ducky wouldn't be in the hospital if he hadn't been trying to help me. Those sailors died because I didn't say anything. How many people died because I helped them move ammunition?"

Gibbs was honestly stymied by what Tim was saying. How to get more than the bare facts into Tim's head?

"How do you get out of this?" Gibbs asked, without thinking.

"What?"

"How do you get yourself out of this mindset, McGee? It can't be how you always feel."

The profound silence...so profound that Gibbs sensed that he'd asked an important question without realizing it.

"I...talk..."

"To whom?"

"Ducky, usually...and Dr. Lewis."

"Your shrink?"

Tim nodded.

"And that helps?"

"Usually. Not always."

"What _doesn't_ get helped?"

"Jewel."

"Why her?"

"I killed her."

Gibbs nodded. They'd already talked about her.

"Can you talk to me?"

Shrug.

"Why don't you try it? Why can't you let her go?"

"Because I'm stupid." One of Tim's legs slipped down and he leaned an elbow on the other, resting his forehead on his hand.

Gibbs laughed. Tim's situation wasn't funny, but that particular response to a very serious question actually gave him a little hope.

"Talk to me, McGee. I know you don't want to risk trusting me again, but who else can you talk to?"

"My shrink?"

"When were you supposed to meet with him?"

"Today."

"You want to?"

"Yes."

That Tim knew he needed the help was encouraging, even if Gibbs was a little disappointed that Tim didn't want to talk to him.

"Okay. We'll make arrangements to get him here."

"Thanks."

They both sat in silence for a while longer.

"Why are you bothering, G-Gibbs?"

"Because it's worth the irritation."

A slight smile...which quickly faded.

"My way would be a lot easier."

"For you...not for anyone else. Including us."

It was clear that Tim didn't believe him.

"Is this really what you want, McGee? Do you really want to die?"

"It would be a _lot_ easier," Tim said and started to stand up. He faced away from Gibbs as Gibbs turned the elevator back on, feeling discouraged by the lack of progress.

...but then, one final time, Tim surprised him.

"...but no...it's not what I want. Just what has to happen."

"You're wrong. It doesn't have to happen and it shouldn't."

No response.

"We can't let you die, McGee. Where do you want to go?"

"I want to be alone."

"Okay."

The elevator doors opened and Gibbs led Tim across to Tony's desk...upon which Tim's typewriter lay. Tony was still asleep and didn't move when Gibbs picked up the machine and a pile of paper and led Tim to one of the conference rooms.

It was just late enough that there was a hint of sunlight. Almost dawn.

"Hang out in here, if you'd like...but don't leave the building, McGee."

Tim said nothing.

"Promise that you're not going to leave the building."

Tim stared at his typewriter.

"Aftershocks," he whispered.

"What?"

"I won't leave."

"Okay. Someone will get you something for breakfast."

"Okay."

Gibbs watched as Tim stretched out a hand to touch the typewriter and then pulled back. ...just like the rest of his life. So much potential in reach and he was afraid to take it.

"It still works, McGee. You could try it out."

Tim said nothing, and Gibbs left the room. He made a mental note to contact Tim's psychiatrist. He didn't think that Tim was out of the woods just yet and he was irritated that he'd forgotten Tim was seeing a shrink regularly anyway.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim felt so tired, but he didn't want to sleep. He couldn't. He had to do something else. He couldn't just sit here doing nothing.

The typewriter.

"Too many aftershocks, Ducky," he whispered. "When can the rebuilding begin?"


	31. Chapter 31

**Chapter 31**

When he awoke the next morning, Ducky felt more pain but he also felt more alert...which was good because he hated the floaty feeling that accompanied the stronger analgesics. A little pain never hurt anybody and he wanted his mind operating at peak capacity as soon as possible. There was just too much going on for him to spend it in a drugged stupor.

Foremost on his mind, of course, was Tim. It wasn't that he had no faith in Gibbs and the others to protect Tim physically...but they just could _not_ truly understand Tim's emotional state. There were times Ducky himself had wanted to give up, but then there were days that had seen Tim almost his old self. Then, even in the worst moments, there were slivers of sunlight. Like yesterday when Tim had almost admitted that there was potential for rebuilding.

Almost. Always that almost. Ducky didn't know what it would take for Tim to move beyond the _almost_ and get to the point where he could actually accept what was there for the taking...and there was _so_ much for the taking. Ducky wanted Tim to find a way back to NCIS, but regardless of whether or not that was possible, he just wanted Tim to take back his life.

Ducky sighed and looked around the hospital room. He knew he was in no shape to leave the hospital yet...and likely wouldn't be for a few more days at least. It was frustrating. Tim needed someone who understood him. He needed someone he trusted...someone to give him that extra push now that he was so close.

...and then there were the circumstances of Ducky's injury. That worried him more than anything else. He knew that Tim would blame himself. The danger was in the isolation he had from the people who normally kept him from falling too far into the self-blame. If he fell too deeply, there could be a repeat of other events...days that no one else knew about...except Dr. Lewis. Thankfully, those black days had not been repeated...so far.

_Jethro can handle this. He is capable. ...if he's willing to try._

Would he? Would he _really_ try? And would he take the time to see what Tim's real problem was? ...as opposed to the problem he put out front for people to see?

Ducky couldn't answer those questions. He could only try and heal as quickly as possible...and hope for the best.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Gibbs was surprised by how worried Dr. Lewis sounded on the phone and how quickly he agreed to come to NCIS to speak with Tim. Gibbs hadn't even given him many details and yet he seemed to know, even better than Gibbs himself did, what was wrong with Tim...and that was apparently bad enough for him to drop everything in his schedule and make the trek to NCIS.

As he waited for Dr. Lewis to arrive, he mulled over what could have possibly led to this seemingly-extreme reaction. It wasn't that Gibbs himself wasn't worried. He was. Tim would have gone through with his plan had Gibbs not awakened to see him leave...but he'd got Tim to promise to stay in the building and he would keep his promise. Gibbs was sure of that.

So...why?

Tony and Ziva were down with Abby, ostensibly looking through what Tim had found. He figured that they were probably talking about how different Tim was right now and what they should do about it. Gibbs had given them an abbreviated explanation of what had happened and told them to let Tim be by himself for a while.

...and Gibbs was sitting impatiently at his desk waiting to be able to question one of the people Tim seemed to trust.

It was barely eight in the morning when Henry called up to say that Dr. Lewis had arrived. Gibbs instantly leapt to his feet and headed down to the main entrance. The psychiatrist was standing by Henry, looking worried...which worried Gibbs because shrinks were supposed to be fairly unflappable.

"Dr. Lewis."

"Agent Gibbs. Thank you for calling me."

"This way."

"Of course."

They got on the elevator and Gibbs let it rise for a few seconds before stopping it. Dr. Lewis looked at Gibbs strangely.

"Uh...Agent Gibbs?"

"This is my office," Gibbs said.

"Interesting. What is it?"

"What's going on with McGee?"

"Therapy, of course. What else?"

"That's what I'm asking you. Look, I may not have a degree, but I can tell when there's something going on. If this was just therapy, you wouldn't have dropped everything to come here before nine a.m. What's going on?"

Dr. Lewis let out a long-suffering sigh.

"Agent Gibbs, surely you are familiar with patient confidentiality. I can't tell you what goes on in our sessions unless Tim allows me to do so...and be honest. Do you really think that Tim would allow me to tell _you_?"

Gibbs sighed. "No. He wouldn't. ...but there's something more than that, isn't there."

"Yes, Agent Gibbs. There is a reason why I was willing to rearrange my entire day to come here and talk to Tim. A very good reason, but I can't tell you what that reason is. Tim can...but has obviously chosen not to." He hesitated. "...and...Dr. Mallard can tell you...but again, he's obviously chosen not to do so. I am the one person who could never tell you what you want to know. All I can do is say that you're right. There's something more. A lot more, and it has everything to do with the therapy I've been giving him for the last eighteen months...even if it was a later development."

"And you won't tell me any more than that?"

"I _can't_ tell you any more than that, Agent Gibbs. I have an obligation to keep my clients' sessions private. Tim trusts me, and I'm not going to violate that trust."

Gibbs knew Dr. Lewis was right. It didn't stop him from being annoyed. He turned back to the controls and started the elevator up again. He didn't say anything as they walked to the conference room.

He knocked on the door.

"Come in," Tim's weary voice answered.

Dr. Lewis reached out for the doorknob and Gibbs stopped him for a moment.

"How long will you be?"

"Probably a while. Our sessions generally last about 45 minutes, but this will take longer."

"Okay."

The door creaked open and Tim looked out at them. Gibbs was surprised at the look of relief that suffused Tim's face when he saw Dr. Lewis.

"Good morning, Tim."

"Good morning, Dr. Lewis. Thanks for coming."

"Of course." Dr. Lewis looked at Gibbs and nodded. "Agent Gibbs."

Gibbs nodded and stood back. He watched the door close and then looked at his watch. He couldn't let this stand. He had to know what was going on.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Dr. Lewis sat down across from Tim. He looked at the typewriter.

"Have you used it?"

Tim shook his head.

"Not since..."

Tim shook his head again.

"Agent Gibbs told me what happened this morning."

"I figured he would."

"Tim, you know this isn't how to deal with it."

Tim started tracing designs on the table.

"Ducky was shot."

"I know."

"He could have died."

"I know."

Suddenly, Tim exploded. "And it's not _fair_!" He nearly screamed the last word and surged to his feet, kicking his chair away. "It's not fair!"

Dr. Lewis didn't speak. He had hoped that they wouldn't have to deal with this again, but all these problems, all coming in on him at once. Tim had been doing a pretty good job of it. ...but Ducky... Dr. Lewis knew that there was no way to keep Tim from this swirling tide of self-loathing. It was more a matter of helping him get through it and see that his blaming himself wasn't right.

It was an uphill battle, but one he hoped could eventually be won.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Ducky settled back after his examination. His doctors were cautiously pleased with his current progress. Because of his age, they wanted to keep him in the hospital longer than would be usual, but while he might lose some of his mobility, they figured he'd be able to heal, given time.

There was a knock and then the door opened...revealing Gibbs.

"Jethro. What are you doing here?"

"What's with McGee?"

"Timothy? In what respect?"

"In the respect that he decided that the best way to deal with his situation was to try and sneak out of NCIS to let Collier kill him. In the respect that I called Dr. Lewis and he was so worried that he instantly came over to NCIS to talk with him. In the respect that there's _something_ that happened to McGee that you never told any of us. In _that_ respect."

Ducky sighed. He didn't feel he had the energy for this. Not now, but Gibbs had that look in his eye. He wasn't going to back down.

"I told you that Timothy is not fine, Jethro. Did you think that was a past tense reference?"

"No, but this is different."

"Yes. It is."

Gibbs sat down beside the bed.

"Look...Duck, I know that you don't like this, that you don't think any of us care, that you're probably tired. ...but I can't help McGee if I don't know what's going on in his head."

"Have you tried _asking_ him?"

"Yeah. All I could do was get him to admit that he didn't want to die. It was just that it was the best solution."

Ducky blinked in surprise. "Really? You were able to get Timothy to say that? To _actually_ say the words? Not just a nod?"

"Yeah...why?"

"Because he's never said it before."

"Before _what_, Ducky?"

"No one else knows about this, Jethro. Not Abigail, not his friend Matt...not even his family. I only know because...because Timothy called me in that...that...dark hour. Dr. Lewis knows because I called him."

"Have you ever known me to talk too much, Ducky?"

Ducky was forced to laugh a little.

"No. That I will say for you. You can keep a secret."

"Tell me, Ducky."

"Very well. It was just after Timothy had his first job interview. I didn't know it, but he had a meeting with one of the prosecutors and they grilled him on his relationship with Julia Westin. Details that...that I'm sure he's not told anyone except perhaps Dr. Lewis. No, he has not even told me. I guess he gave them all they wanted...and then he decided he needed to know more about her, about who she had been before he had met her."

"Why?"

"Jethro, you know what Jewel is to him now. Yes, I call her Jewel...because the woman he sees in all his nightmares is no longer the real woman he knew, the woman he killed. She is the personification of the worst parts of him, those things he finds so abhorrent that he can't even bring himself to speak of them except under duress. She consumes far too much of him, but it's the way it is, unfortunately. None of us have been able to exorcise her from his mind."

"Okay...so what happened?"

"I must confess that I don't know all the details. All I know is that at three in the morning, Timothy called me. He was hysterical. He was practically screaming into the phone about how he'd killed her and he was a murderer and he had no worth at all and why was he even bothering trying. It was..." Ducky stopped, physically shuddering at the memory. "...if I never have to hear something like that again in my life, it will be too soon. Jethro, Timothy was spiraling out of control. It had been days since he'd managed to sleep. I had thought he was doing better. I dropped the ball. I wasn't there for him and the result of it was that phone call. I could hear his neighbors pounding on the walls, pounding on the door. Jethro was howling. ...and Timothy was...was in the center of it all. I didn't know what to do."

Ducky stopped again and closed his eyes. He felt Gibbs put a hand on his uninjured shoulder.

"I called 911, told them that Timothy was suffering from some sort of suicidal episode. Then, I called Dr. Lewis and told him. The result was that Timothy was put on suicide watch for two days. Then, he went back to the psychiatric hospital for another two weeks."

"How did you keep that from everyone?"

"It was luck. Sheer luck. Good or bad, I don't know. Timothy had recently called his family...and lied about how he was doing. Matt and Judith had been preoccupied with their son. Abigail...she goes through periods where she finds it difficult to be with Tim as he is. I don't blame her. Neither does Timothy. She happened to be in one of those times. Jethro...I thought he was lost. I thought I would get a call and find that Timothy had..."

"But he didn't even try?"

"No. He didn't. He confessed that the dreams had started bothering him so much that he'd stopped sleeping again. He knows they're not real. He knows that Jewel is dead...but he fears those dreams. He fears that part of himself and sometimes he can't bear to see it. That, combined with whatever he found out about Julia Westin, combined with having to recount what he'd done with her and to her...and his first job rejection, with the attendant despicable reaction on the part of the interviewer. It became too much for him to bear."

Ducky took a deep breath and opened his eyes. Gibbs sat back in the chair, looking shocked.

"Do you know what the first thing he said to me when I came to see him was?"

"What?"

"He said that he was sorry for bothering me. He also begged me not to tell anyone what had happened. Dr. Lewis said that if he wished to keep it a secret, he could. Since that night, I don't believe he's been really happy. He has up days, but that's when he stopped using his typewriter. That's when he started sabotaging himself at his interviews. Dr. Lewis has tried to help him see that he doesn't need to punish himself, but Timothy has been determined. This is also why he's so afraid of his emotions...or at least part of the reason."

"Duck...why didn't you even...suggest that there might be more to it than just him being mad at us?"

"Because, Jethro, I wasn't certain whether or not it would be a good idea for you to know. I'm not the expert here. I'm grasping in the dark, trying to figure out how best to help Timothy heal...and, Jethro...I'm failing." Ducky blinked back tears. "I'm not helping him heal. Nothing I have done has got him past this. Instead...here I am in the hospital, apparently the impetus for his falling back again. I don't know what to do for him, Jethro. I really don't. I don't know how to get him to take that leap he needs to take. He thinks of himself as permanently destroyed. No chance of ever getting back to normal. I'm afraid that he's right!"

Gibbs said nothing, but the surprise at Ducky's confession was clear as day.

"I don't know what to do...and I've come to care for him almost as I would a son. If he's lost, it will tear my heart right out of my body."

There was about a minute of silence and then Gibbs leaned forward, a new look of determination on his face.

"He won't be lost, Ducky. Not this time."

Then, he got up and left the room. Ducky watched him go and sagged back against the mattress. He could only hope that it was true. At this point, his hopes were meager indeed.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Are you feeling any better?" Dr. Lewis asked.

Tim shrugged. "Calmer now."

"That's not better."

"No...but it's safer."

"I'm going to come back here tonight and we're going to talk again. Okay?"

Tim nodded.

"Good. Now, I don't want you staying in here alone all day. Understand?"

"Visitors aren't allowed to wander around the building without an escort," Tim mumbled.

Dr. Lewis smiled. "Be that as it may, don't isolate yourself. That's not what you need right now...even if it means being in the company of people who still give you trouble. All right?"

"Okay."

"I'll see you tonight."

"Okay."

Dr. Lewis stood up and walked to the door. He was unsurprised to see Gibbs standing just outside it, ready to conduct him back downstairs.

"I'll be coming back tonight, Agent Gibbs. I hope that's all right?"

"Of course."

"Good."

As they got on the elevator, Dr. Lewis wondered if he'd be invited into the "office" again. He actually smiled when Gibbs stopped the elevator.

"I talked to Ducky."

"I'm not surprised."

"I was."

"I'm sure. Those kinds of things are never pleasant find out about."

"Is there any hope for him?"

"Has he been sleeping?"

"Not enough," Gibbs said grudgingly.

"He needs to sleep. I'm going to bring some sleeping pills tonight. I don't like to use them, but Tim's in a state where he _needs_ the sleep more than he needs to sleep naturally."

"Can he get out of this?"

"It's always possible. The fact that he's associating with you all is a good sign, awkward as the interactions may be. He didn't drop as far as he did before. There's always hope."

Gibbs turned the elevator back on. It rumbled to life and descended. When the doors opened, he headed toward the doors and then stopped and turned back.

"By the way, Agent Gibbs?"

"Yeah?"

"I told Tim that he needs to get out of that room today. Make sure he does it."

"I will."

"Thank you."

As he walked out of the building, Dr. Lewis took a deep breath and let it out. Tim was heartbreaking to see in this state, but perhaps he could climb back out now. ...at least he could make a start.

Maybe.


	32. Chapter 32

**Chapter 32**

Gibbs stood outside the conference room door for a few minutes, trying to decide what was best to do. It was strange. Up until having spoken to Ducky, he had been working on the assumption that Tim was simply still holding onto his anger, that he just needed to be shown that the others were genuinely sorry, that they wouldn't try to do anything to him but that they were trying to help him. He had thought that this would be enough.

He had never even _considered_ the possibility that Tim's problems were more deeply-rooted than what the team had done. The more fool he. This wasn't something simple. It wasn't even merely complicated. It was so complex and painful that he genuinely wondered if Tim _did_ have a chance. Gibbs no longer cared about getting forgiveness. He didn't care about Tim coming back to NCIS. All he wanted was to get rid of that black part of Tim's soul. It wasn't just black. It had been charred and blasted. Was there anything still alive to banish that part? Perhaps. Maybe.

...but Gibbs now saw the problem. Tim had to be the one to take the step...but Tim _couldn't_ take the step without someone helping him. And how could they get him to let go of Jewel? What would it take to get her out of his head? ...or at least to get her into the realm of regret rather than abhorrence and fear?

He didn't know. That no one else seemed to know either actually frightened him.

"Gibbs?"

Gibbs looked over, surprised at the voice. Jamie was standing quietly.

"Yeah?"

"I waited for you to see me, but you must have been thinking pretty hard," she said with a smile.

"What is it?"

"FBI didn't find anything on the rooftop besides the place where he was standing. No fingerprints, no casings. He was fast and thorough. Collier's no beginner."

"What about at the house?"

"No sign of any other bodies. That means there's at least one person unaccounted for. Whoever was with Donovan...got out of the house, either _with_ Collier or in spite of him."

"Any idea who he is?"

"Probably someone who was supposed to clean up the mess...and failed as badly as Collier did. How's Ducky?"

"He's gonna make it. It's going to take some time..."

"I figured." Jamie inhaled deeply. "Gibbs..."

"Yeah?"

"I think...you and I need to talk."

"About what?"

"My job...and why I have it."

"I picked you. Nothing to talk about."

"No, there is."

Gibbs finally focused on Jamie. She was serious.

"My office," he said.

She nodded and led the way. They got on and Gibbs stopped it.

"What?" he asked.

"Did you ever ask Director Vance how he compiled the list of agents you chose from?"

"No."

"He probably wouldn't have told you anyway, but_ I_ think you need to know."

"Know what?"

Jamie took a deep breath. "I was on that list for the same reason everyone else was. We're good at our jobs, but we had to be willing to..."

"What?" Gibbs asked, now confused.

"...to step aside should McGee ever decide to come back."

"What?"

"Director Vance talked to me. I'm sure he did the same with the others. He told me that I was a placeholder, that he hoped it wouldn't be a permanent assignment. I didn't mind. I figured working under you would be hard enough that I probably _wouldn't_ want to stay forever."

"But?"

"But you're not the same as rumors have portrayed you."

"That's a good thing?"

She smiled. "Yes. It is. You're a lot...more aware...more..._human_ than I expected you to be. What I'm trying to say, here, Gibbs, is that I'm here to save McGee's space. That's always why I've been here...and I'm more than happy to stay for as long as I'm allowed. ...but if McGee does want to come back...I'll step aside. No hard feelings."

"Why are you telling me this now?"

"Because it needed to be said. I'm not really a part of the team. ...oh, I am by default. I know that Tony and Ziva would have some issues with me leaving if I did...but not if it was to have McGee back. They just don't want to be left again. I just want you to know that, no matter how this plays out, I've been happy to be on your team, and I've learned a lot. That's all."

"You planning on leaving?"

She laughed. "I've been planning on leaving since day one. It just hasn't happened yet."

Gibbs smiled a little himself.

"With everything that's happened the last couple of weeks, I didn't want you to suddenly remember I exist and feel bad about it. Maybe you wouldn't have, but I wanted to nip it in the bud before it became a problem. You guys are dealing with enough right now to have any regret about me fouling things up."

Gibbs turned on the elevator.

"Thanks," he said.

"You're welcome." The doors opened. "Anyway, Fornell asked me to update you on everything so you didn't accuse him of holding out." Her voice was back to its usual business-like tone. "There are a few things they still want to check out at the house and Fornell said that they'd take charge of Ducky's part if you didn't mind...analyzing the bullet and everything."

Gibbs nodded. "Okay. Tell him that we've got some new intel on our drug dealers...possibly linking them directly to Collier. If he wants to talk about it, he can bug me tomorrow."

"Really?"

"Which part?"

"All of it...you letting him take on Ducky getting shot, the link to Collier...you being willing to brief Fornell."

"Yes, really. To all of it." Gibbs paused. "Jamie?"

She had headed for her desk but she stopped and turned back. "Yeah?"

"What do you think of McGee?"

Jamie cocked her head to the side and thought about it. "I think...that I wish I had known him before all this happened. When I looked in his eyes at Soft-Tech, I thought he was hurt, afraid...but too prideful to let the people around him see any sign of weakness. He was always on his guard. I think the only time I really saw him was the first time he saw Tony. ...and he looked...really young. I can't describe it any better than that."

Gibbs nodded and got back on the elevator. He debated for a moment about where to go, but then decided to follow Dr. Lewis' instruction and get Tim out of the conference room...but where to take him? Not outside. Too much risk. Maybe he could ask Tim where he'd like to go. That was a possibility. As he walked toward the door, he paused and looked down at Jamie as she sat at the desk he still thought of as belonging to Tim. That Vance has taken those pains from the beginning didn't exactly _surprise_ him, but it did surprise him that Jamie was still thinking about an injunction that seemed less likely than ever to require fulfillment.

He knocked on the door.

"Come in."

He walked in. Tim was standing at the window, looking out on the Yard.

"Hey, McGee."

"Hi."

"Where would you like to go?"

"Dr. Lewis told you?"

Gibbs smiled.

"Yeah."

"Is Jimmy in?"

"I don't know. Let's go see."

Another small pang. Tim would rather hang out with Jimmy than anyone else in the building.

Tim turned around and Gibbs could see that he'd recently been crying.

"Okay," he said.

Gibbs just jerked his head toward the door and led the way. Tim followed without speaking.

They rode down to Autopsy and Gibbs let Tim walk in. Jimmy had clearly only just arrived himself. He looked up and smiled when he saw Tim, but was obviously out of sorts.

"Hey, Tim."

"Hi, Jimmy. Can I hang out here for a while?"

"Of course! I just came from talking to Ducky. He's given me a whole list of things that I have to do exactly right while he's gone. ...and he told me to call Dr. Hampton. I haven't done that yet."

Gibbs looked at Tim. "If you need to go somewhere else, make sure Palmer takes you or call for one of us. ...and no leaving the building, McGee."

"I told you I wouldn't," Tim said.

Gibbs didn't think Tim had forgotten, but he wanted to make sure that Jimmy knew without making it clear that he was really telling Jimmy.

"We'll be fine, Agent Gibbs," Jimmy said earnestly.

Gibbs nodded and left them to their own devices, not without a bit of unexpressed anxiety.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

As soon as the doors closed, Jimmy looked at Tim in concern.

"What's going on, Tim?" he asked. "I haven't seen Agent Gibbs so worried in ages."

Tim smiled a little. "The same as usual. He's just more aware of it now."

"Man, Tim...this really sucks, doesn't it."

"Yeah, it does."

"Dr. Mallard's really worried about you. Agent Gibbs is worried about you. What's going on? Really. Because this doesn't seem like the same as usual."

Tim shrugged. "I was going to leave...and Gibbs decided it would be a bad idea."

"It _would_ be. Why would you leave when you know that someone's trying to kill you?"

"Make things easier, wouldn't it?"

"How?"

"One bullet through my brain and I'm no longer a problem for anyone."

"Maybe...but it's still a bad idea," Jimmy said. "Can you imagine how Dr. Mallard would feel if he found out that you'd been killed?"

"Relieved?" Tim mumbled, staring at one of the autopsy tables.

"Tim...if I ever wanted to smack you upside the head..." Jimmy said impatiently.

Tim looked up.

"Can't you see how much Dr. Mallard cares about you? I don't even care what kind of an argument you could make that it would be easier. Sure, it would be easier. It'd be easier if we were _all_ dead! You can't have any problems if you aren't alive!" Jimmy paused. "...well, unless there actually _is_ a heaven and a hell because then...well, you'd have problems with...anyway..." He shook his head irritably at the near-tangent. "...life isn't about things being _easier_! It's about things being worthwhile! ...and _life_ is worthwhile! Why do you think we have punishments like the death penalty and life without parole? Why do you think convicts will plead out to avoid the death penalty even if it means spending the rest of their lives behind bars? Because we know that the worst thing you can take from another person is life!"

"You're right," Tim said. "So...what gives me the right to take other lives? What's the magic answer for that?"

Jimmy's irritation faded as quickly as it had come.

"There _is_ no magic answer. We both know that...but you're making it a lot harder than it has to be. I just can't figure out why."

Tim smiled a little.

"You know why you are."

"Yeah."

"Why?"

"Because it's what I deserve."

Jimmy looked at him for a long time with an expression that was almost Ducky-like. Maybe he'd been around Ducky too much or for too long.

"...okay...so _you_ deserve it. Do the rest of us?" he asked. "Does Dr. Mallard deserve to worry himself sick about you because _you_ deserve to be miserable? Do the prosecutors deserve to deal with you almost being killed because _you_ deserve to die? Does everyone at NCIS deserve to need this fight because _you_ feel like you can't anymore?"

Tim was quiet for a few moments. Then, he sighed.

"Did all those men deserve to die from the drugs because _I_ decided it was more important to finish the operation? Did Julia Westin deserve to die because _I_ decided that it was necessary? Did Lance Corporal Smythe deserve to die because _I_ wanted a job? Where are the limits, Jimmy?" Tim asked...and his plaintive voice told Jimmy this was a genuine question. "How do I determine what course of action is better? How do _I_ decide what is better? And what _right_ do I have to decide? The choices I've made in the past have led to a _lot_ of people dying. Every time I think I _might _be able to fight back...something worse happens!" There was an edge of hysteria again. "How much worse can things get before people I actually _care_ about die? Ducky could have been killed yesterday! ...and only a few seconds before, I'd been saying that maybe I should try again." Tim stood up and turned away from Jimmy...who strongly suspected that Tim was trying not to cry. "The universe keeps telling me that it's no use. The only reason I keep trying at all is..."

Tim took a shuddering breath and still didn't turn around. Jimmy stared at Tim's hunched shoulders.

"Why? Why do you keep trying?"

"B-Because..." Tim sniffed. "...because Ducky keeps telling me...that the universe is wrong. ...but if he dies...there's no one who can keep fighting the universe anymore. I don't have...I can't... I'm too weak to resist what I keep getting told."

"What does the universe sound like, Tim? I've wondered before."

"To me...it sounds like Jewel."

"And what does she say?"

"That I'm worthless. That I'm weak. That I'm stupid. That everything I've done has been a failure. That no one in their right mind would want me around. That the only thing I'm good at is...is getting people killed."

Jimmy nodded although Tim couldn't see him. His back was still turned and he was shaking a little. He tried to think of what Ducky would say...Ducky who seemed to have the power to jolt Tim out of these horrid thoughts, to get him taking tentative and stumbling steps on the path back to humanity.

"That's...That's not the universe talking, Tim."

Silence.

"It's you...or a _part_ of you."

"Yeah?" Tim asked. "Which part?"

"The same part of you that turned you so angry before. That part of you that wants it all to be over so you can stop fighting. The part of you that tries to give up when you don't really want to. It's not the universe because...I don't think the universe would ever want to call a part of itself worthless."

"Then, why do I?"

"I don't know...I'm not smart enough. Maybe because you're not as big and old as the universe?"

Tim laughed...while crying.

"How do I fight myself, Jimmy? I don't know how to do it...and Ducky can't...can't tell me."

"I don't know how, either. Maybe by doing what that part of you _doesn't_ want you to do?"

Tim finally turned around.

"Like what?"

"Uh...well...like...using your typewriter?"

"I can't do that."

"Why not?" Jimmy challenged. "It's yours."

"It wouldn't...be...right."

"What part of you is saying that?" Jimmy asked.

Tim looked so conflicted, almost distraught, as he struggled to speak. Jimmy could see that, for whatever reason, Tim wasn't ready for that yet. He needed more time. Maybe this was why Ducky was so worried. Tim really _couldn't_ deal with it all at this point. He needed something to bring him to life again and he just hadn't found it yet.

Quickly, he walked over and looked Tim in the eye.

"It's okay, Tim. Really. ...but I'm right and you aren't hearing the universe. The universe doesn't give up on parts of itself. It can't...because there's nothing outside it, right?"

"That's...one of the...the theories, yeah."

"Hey, I've got some things to do in here right now, but I'm going to visit Dr. Mallard on my lunch break. I figure you can't come, but I can take him a message if you want."

Tim looked down and then looked back at Jimmy, his expression earnest.

"Tell him..." Tim stopped and looked around Autopsy. "Tell him that...he...shouldn't worry about me. It's not his job. He just needs to...get better." He opened his mouth as if to say more but then just nodded and walked back into Ducky's office. He sat down, pillowed his head in his hands and closed his eyes.

Jimmy watched him, wondering if he'd done any good or if it was worse...or if it had done anything at all, good _or_ bad. He wished that he was as smart as Ducky was and could know exactly what to say to help. ...but he wasn't. He was just trying and hoping it had a positive result.


	33. Chapter 33

**Chapter 33**

Tim stayed in Autopsy until lunch and then Jimmy took him back up to the conference room. Tim didn't really want to hang out with Jordan Hampton. She was nice enough, but there was too much going on for him to need outside scrutiny. He avoided talking to anyone else that day...except Abby who dragged him down to the lab so that he could walk her through what he'd found and how he'd found it. Other than that, he hid. Jimmy did drop in on him again, letting him know that Ducky was feeling a bit better and that he was still worried about Tim, but that was all. Tim knew that someone was likely watching him...or at least the conference room to make sure he didn't try to sneak out again.

When Dr. Lewis came back that evening, Tim had done very little beyond talking with Jimmy and walking Abby through everything he'd found. He knew that Gibbs had been working, that the others had been working. ...but he didn't have a job. He didn't have responsibility. All he had was the order that he stay hidden.

No value as anything but...but what? In spite of what Jimmy had said, there was still that voice inside him that said he had no value at all, that any value he might have possessed had vanished when he killed Jewel, when he quit NCIS, when his mind had snapped. All that was left was an empty shell which had no value and should be trod underfoot for the good of humanity.

Timothy McGee was nothing but a plague.

...but before he could sink any deeper into that omnipresent quagmire, there was a knock on the door.

"Come in," he said dully.

"Sounds like things are going well, Tim."

Tim looked up and managed a smile at Dr. Lewis. He saw Tony hovering behind him but chose not to acknowledge him. Dr. Lewis closed the door and sat down.

"Type anything?"

Tim shook his head.

"Why not?"

"Can't."

"You mean you _won't_. You have the ability and it belongs to you."

Tim shook his head again. "Not to me. It belongs to the person I was, not who I am now."

Dr. Lewis sighed and leaned forward. "Tim, we've talked about this. Over and over again, we've talked about it. You _know_ that you're still the same person. You _know_ that the feelings of worthlessness aren't true. ...but you just can't seem to bring yourself to believe it. Why not?"

"Because...what will that mean?"

Dr. Lewis furrowed his brow. "What do you mean? What will _what_ mean?"

"If I'm wrong...if I'm the same person...if I'm not worthless...then, what good am I? If I'm the same person...that means that...that Timothy McGee is a murderer...that Timothy McGee is the one who sacrificed lives...that Timothy McGee is the one who felt all that hate...all that anger...that Timothy McGee is the one who almost killed himself. I wouldn't do what I've done. I wouldn't..._be_ that person...but if..." Tim shook his head again.

"Tim, you _are_ the same person, but you were dealing with something you were ill-equipped to deal with. You don't have to excuse what happened, but you do have to accept it...and then you can change."

Tim sighed. "I...don't feel like I can. Every time I try..." He looked up. "Ducky could have died!"

Dr. Lewis took a breath as if he was making a difficult decision.

"Okay, Tim. Let's talk about that."

"About what?"

"What if Ducky _had_ died? What then?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean what would you have done? What would you have felt? What would you have thought? Let's say that Dr. Mallard isn't just convalescing in the hospital. He's dead. Cold and dead. The bullet actually got him right in the head and he's gone."

Tim felt his stomach tighten up at the thought.

"Tell me, Tim. If he was dead, what would you have thought?"

"My fault."

"Why."

"Because he was there because he cared about me...because if I wasn't there, he wouldn't have been."

"What about the man who actually shot him? Doesn't he bear any responsibility for the death of your friend?"

"Of course, but..."

"No. Tim, did you _want_ that man to kill your friend?"

Tim winced at the image he could all-too-easily picture in his head of Ducky dead and bleeding on the sidewalk.

"No, of course, not, but..."

"Whose fault is it, then? Is it your fault even though the last thing you wanted was to have your friend killed or was it this man who actually shot him with the _intent _of shooting him? This man who feels no guilt about almost taking another man's life. Which? You can't have both, Tim. You have to choose."

Tim stood up and walked away. There was no punching bag in here and he hadn't needed that for a long time.

"It's..."

"What? What, Tim? Answer the question."

"It's my fault!"

"Why?"

"Because it has to be my fault! Everything that goes wrong has to be my fault because if I weren't there it wouldn't have happened. What I feel doesn't matter! All that matters is that it's my fault, that I am ruining people's lives just by living myself."

"That's how you feel? No one else's choices matter but your own?"

"You make it sound like..."

"Like you're letting yourself become as focused on yourself as you were before? Like the hatred has gone anywhere because now you're simply hating yourself instead of everyone else?"

Tim sat down at the other end of the table, rested his elbows on the table and then closed his eyes tightly and jammed the heels of his hands against his forehead. He sat there for an unknown period of time...and then he heard Dr. Lewis sit down beside him.

"Tim, you will never heal from all this if you hang on to this anger and hatred. It doesn't matter _who_ you're hating. If you can't let it go, it's never going to end. You can't hate them forever. ...but you can't hate yourself forever either."

"But I hate what I've done! I hate those feelings I've had! I hate where I ended up. I hate what people think when they look at me."

"Tim...you can't do anything about _any_ of that. None of it! What you did and the feelings you had in the past...they're done! You made that choice already and you can't change that. You can't change what people think. You can't change what people do. What you _can_ change is how you feel _now_. What you can change is what you will do in the future. But the past? There's nothing you can do about the past...except learn from it. And you're not doing that right now. Instead, you're letting the past rule you, take control of everything that you think and feel. And that's a _choice_ you're making. It's not something you have allow to happen."

"Then...why does it _feel_ like I do? Why do I feel like I _don't_ have a choice?"

"Because you have been through a _lot_, not only in the last couple of years, but in the last couple of months. ...but you have to try and let this go. You're not fighting against anyone else now. Only yourself."

"Those people who..."

"No, Tim. The real fight you have is to conquer your fear and loathing. That _has_ to be your focus now because you can't help the others with this case while you're holding yourself back. You just can't. You won't work as well. You won't feel as good. You won't want to be there with them. You need to accept your flaws and work with them."

"I know I have flaws."

"No. You feel you should be perfect and so when you find that you aren't, you think you're worthless. That's not acknowledging flaws. That's tearing yourself down. Knowing you have a flaw or two...or five...doesn't mean you think yourself worthless. It means you try and improve yourself, work around those flaws...or find a way to make those flaws into strengths. It's possible, but you have to see value in yourself first."

There was a long pause.

"You have to learn to see yourself as Dr. Mallard must see you."

Tim couldn't bring himself to look up. He couldn't bring himself to move, but he'd heard the words. They'd penetrated, mingled with the words others had said to him. It was a strange sensation, a feeling that maybe he could do something. ...but there, lurking on the other side of this tentative thought, was that black voice of Jewel, whispering that he could only be of use if he were dead.

_Weaknesses into strengths..._

"Tim?"

Tim lifted his head.

"Can I talk to Ducky? Is there any...safe way?"

Dr. Lewis blinked at him for a few moments.

"I don't know the answer to that, but if you'd like me to ask, I can do that for you."

Tim nodded. He didn't want to ask himself.

"All right. Think about what I've said."

"I am."

Dr. Lewis smiled. "Good." He stood up and walked out of the conference room.

Tim sat in the same seat and didn't move. He was afraid of what he'd been told. He was afraid of confronting that dark part of himself head-on. He hid from it. He ignored it. ...or he let it become all he was...but he didn't confront it. Ever. He didn't know how.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

An hour or two later, there was a knock on the door again.

"Come in," Tim said, warily.

"Hey, McGee," Tony said. "We're setting you up."

"For what?"

"To talk to Ducky!" Abby said coming in behind him.

Tim saw that they both had an armful of electronics.

"How?"

"Easy! ...well, _sort_ of easy. Easier and safer than getting you over there. Obviously, Ducky couldn't get _here_. So we sent Ziva over to the hospital and we're setting up here. So you can talk!"

Tim looked at Abby and then at Tony.

"Really?"

"Of course! You said you needed to talk to him. I'm _sure_ he wants to talk to you now that he's more alert!"

Tony set up the camera while Abby got the monitor hooked up. He didn't say much of anything. Instead, he just followed Abby's instructions. Tim watched them both with a strange feeling inside him. He couldn't understand it, but he watched them.

"Okay, McGee. You're set. You're smarter than I am when it comes to this stuff; so I'm sure that I don't need to pretend to tell you how to do it."

Tim managed a smile.

"No. I know how."

Abby leaned over and kissed him on the cheek.

"You're okay, Tim. We're all going to be okay."

"You sure of that?" he murmured.

"Positive. Right now, anyway."

She turned his chair toward the camera.

"We could have dug up some iPads or something, but this will give you a better picture...and a more secure connection."

Tim nodded mutely. He watched them slip out of the conference room. Then, he tentatively reached out and pressed the button that would connect him with Ducky. The monitor flickered for a moment and then Ducky was there...in a hospital bed, of course, but he was smiling at the camera.

"Yes, Ziva. It's working. You did it correctly."

Off screen, he heard Ziva speaking. _"Good. I will wait outside, Ducky."_

"Thank you." He looked at the screen. "Hello, Timothy."

Tim scooted closer. "Ducky."

"What is it, lad?"

"I need to you something."

"What's that?"

"What do you see...when you look at me? What am I?"

It wasn't an idle question. Dr. Lewis' instruction had burrowed into his brain...and now, he needed to know what Ducky saw...who he was in Ducky's eyes. He looked earnestly at Ducky.

"Please...Ducky. I need your help."


	34. Chapter 34

**Chapter 34**

Ducky looked at Tim. He was almost distraught again, but there was something different. Whatever had happened in the last day had been good for him. Very difficult, but good. He smiled.

"You've asked me that question before, Timothy."

"I know...but it's been a while. Things are different."

"And yet, still, they are very much the same. I told you before that it was up to you to know who you are."

"But I need you to tell me what you see."

"Why?"

"Because...I look at myself and see..." Tim looked down. "...I see nothing but a worthless drain on society, someone who would only be of value if dead...but other people don't seem to think that way." He looked back up at Ducky with pleading in his eyes. "_You've_ never seen me that way. I can't fight what I think...if I don't have anything to put in its place."

At the the suggestion that Tim might be trying to fight, Ducky straightened in his bed.

"Fight?"

"Yes...maybe."

"I can't tell you how glad I am to hear you say that, Timothy."

"But every time I've tried...something worse happens."

"It certainly seems that way, I will admit, but there is always a chance for improvement."

"What do you see?" Tim asked again.

"I see a young man struggling, a man who has fallen over and over again, who has thought himself beaten...and yet is not. I see a man who is facing great odds but is steeling himself to try again. I see a man who has the potential for darkness and light, who is fighting that darkness." Ducky took a breath and let it out slowly, pausing until Tim met his gaze. "I see a man who has fallen but is not destroyed."

Tim didn't look away. He seemed to be trying to take what Ducky had said and really internalize it...to make it a part of himself.

"Is what you see real?" he asked softly.

"Yes. Yes, Timothy, it is very real. You have made mistakes...as have we all. Your mistakes are serious. So are ours. Forgiveness is possible. Life is possible. You can get back so much of what you lost...if you can see beyond the mistakes you've made."

Tim was silent for a long moment. He looked down at his lap. Ducky waited, hoping as he hadn't in a long time. He knew he couldn't rush Tim's thoughts. Changing the mindset that he had hammered into place wasn't easy, and there were so many setbacks to his attempts. Maybe this could be the moment that started him on the right road.

"Ducky?"

"Yes, lad?"

Tim still didn't lift his head.

"Tell me what to do."

"I can't do that."

"You have to. I don't know anymore. I don't know what to do. I need your help. Tell me what to do. Anything. I'll do it. Just tell me."

"First, look at me, Timothy. You should not ever feel that you are unworthy to make eye contact...nor that you must hide something from me."

Tim lifted his head and Ducky cast about desperately for something that might help Tim more than what had happened so far. Then, he saw it. Nothing else would do.

"Timothy?"

"Yeah?"

"Use your typewriter."

"What?"

"I see it behind you. Use your typewriter. I don't care what you type. I don't care what you decide to do...just use your typewriter. Use it and see that you will not be punished for trying to return to some semblance of your former life."

Tim's eyes became troubled.

"I...don't know if I can."

"You can. That is what I think you need to do. You said you'd do anything I asked of you. It is a simple thing. Something you _can_ do."

Ducky could tell that he'd hit on the very thing Tim _didn't_ want to do...and yet the very thing he _needed_ to do.

"Do it, Timothy."

Tim swallowed hard and looked back at the typewriter, that thing that had become a symbol of who he'd been.

"No one is here listening. No one can enforce this request of mine, but I beg of you to do this for me...if you can't do it for yourself."

"Why is this so important?"

Ducky smiled.

"You and I both know why."

Then, he saw a face in the window. His doctor. The last thing Tim needed was to hear the litany of how long it would take Ducky to fully recover.

"Timothy, I have to go now, but remember what I asked, and remembered your promise."

The troubled look hadn't left Tim's eyes, but finally, he nodded.

"I'll...I'll do it, Ducky. For you."

Then, Tim reached out and disconnected the feed.

"No...really, it's for you, Timothy," Ducky said softly. Then, he gestured for the doctor to come in, steeling himself to hear the news of how long he would be in therapy to heal his shoulder.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim looked at the typewriter and swallowed hard. He couldn't lie to Ducky, not now. He walked over to it, almost tentatively. It hadn't been used in months. It _looked_ all right, but did it really work anymore? Like the man who owned it, maybe it just _appeared_ to be normal, but when pressed, it would fall apart.

He touched it and then pulled back his hand, as if he'd been burned by it. With a deep breath, he looked more closely at it and then stood up and walked to the door. Slowly, he opened it and looked around. There was Tony.

"Hey, McGee. What's up?"

"I need..." Tim stopped. He didn't want to ask for anything.

"What?"

Mutely, Tim held out the typewriter ribbon.

"It's broken. I need...another one."

Tony looked at him in confusion and then broke into a big smile.

"Sure thing, Probie. I'll get that for you." He took it and headed away without any hesitation.

Tim stared after him for a long time.

Probie. How long had it been since he'd heard that particular moniker...besides the moment in the safe house when Tim had unleashed long pent-up venom at Tony and Ziva? Tony had smiled. He had seemed even _eager_ to help. Why? Why did Tony care? Tim went back into the conference room and sat down, trying to stay away from the dark voice in his head that told him he should stop trying to live and give in.

It took Tony nearly an hour to return with the typewriter ribbon. He gave it to Tim without a word and then he left Tim to his own devices. For a moment, Tim almost asked him to stay, but he stopped himself. What would be the point of asking a person who made him feel awkward and conflicted to stay in the room while he tried to return to a former hobby?

Again, he sat down in front of his typewriter, holding the new typewriter ribbon in his hand. He would have to touch it in order to fix it. He smiled a little at the thought. It was a typewriter. It wouldn't hurt him if he touched it. It wasn't anything alive.

So why was it so difficult to convince himself to do this?

"For the same reason I didn't want to talk to them...to...Tony and Ziva," he whispered.

The prospect of sitting down and typing again frightened him.

Carefully, very carefully, he installed the typewriter ribbon, not wanting to screw up this treasured possession. He loved the typewriter, even when he'd pawned it, he'd loved it. It had been his final connection to his former life...with the exception of his record player. He smiled at that. If it hadn't been for Jed's enjoyment of them, he probably would have sold them, too...but once Jed had been so enthusiastic about his jazz records, Tim had let the old man enjoy them.

This, though, this typewriter had been his pride and joy. It wasn't a particularly rare model. He couldn't afford the truly rare ones. He finished installing the ribbon and then sat back and looked at it. He could still remember when he'd bought the typewriter. It was sitting in a secondhand store in the window. At the time of purchase, it had been dingy. Some of the keys were broken. There was no ribbon. Even the casing had been cracked. ...which was why Tim could afford it. It had been really cheap. Slowly, over the course of about a year, he had repaired it until it looked like new. Then, except for the time that Abby had used it to fend off crazy Mikael, he had taken good care of it.

It was ready. There was paper. He just had to start typing.

Tim picked up a piece of paper, hesitated for a few minutes and then carefully rolled it into place.

Again, he stopped and stared at the typewriter. He touched the keys, gently running his fingers over them, listening to the little clicking sound as he touched them.

Then, he closed his eyes.

He touched the keys...and pressed them down. From the first key, he was writing a word.

_Am_

A short word, but a word nonetheless.

_I_

He stopped...and then continued.

_really_

A deep breath.

_Timothy McGee?_

He opened his eyes and looked at the sentence he'd typed. Then, he started typing again...with his eyes closed.

_I used to be Timothy McGee. Then, I became Thomas Allen McKay. I let all the buried anger I felt toward my previous experiences take over and I let myself become the person I hated more than anyone else in the world. I became myself...an alternate self, a self whose behavior leads only to self-loathing and disgust. _

_Am I now Timothy McGee once again? Or am I instead some strange twisted conglomeration of Timothy and Thomas? I don't know what I see when I look in the mirror because I don't look in the mirror unless I have to._

_I feel alone. I am not necessarily alone. I make myself alone because it is easier to be alone than it is to be with people I cannot control. There are only two people I have let into the world I have created. One because he is the only one who refused to leave...and the other because he allowed me to be a human being in the midst of the emptiness._

As he typed, at first, his strokes were slow and hesitant, but as he continued, the words flowed faster and faster as the thoughts he'd blocked up inside his head began to flow out. The dam had burst and the words flowed.

One page was filled and he rolled in another. That page was soon filled with words, with thoughts, with declarations and self-accusation.

Tim typed and typed and typed. The hours passed as he typed. Only once did someone come in, but he ignored them and whoever it was didn't speak.

Finally, it was nearing midnight. His eyes had been closed, but he opened them as he typed one last sentence.

_What do I want? I want to go back._

He looked at what he'd written and he stood up, ignoring the pain from his bruised ribs, the tired fuzziness in his head. He walked to the door of the conference room, hesitated and then opened it.

No one was there.

He walked down to the bullpen. Tony and Ziva weren't there, but Gibbs was.

"What is it?" Gibbs asked.

"I'm ready," he said.

"For what?"

Tim took a breath.

"To work."


	35. Chapter 35

**Chapter 35**

"Work?" Gibbs asked, more surprised than he let on.

"Yes...not...not like...like back at NCIS. I'm not...qualified anymore...but..." Tim was stammering, hesitating. It was like he'd been pushed back in time about seven years...but Gibbs would take that because there was none of the anger...and none of the overt self-loathing. "...but you need to...get Collier."

"Yes, we do."

"And you need me to get him." Tim's words became steadier as he spoke.

"Why do you say that?"

"Because _I'm_ the one Collier wants. He has no reason to expose himself if I'm not exposed."

"We already talked about that, McGee. It's not going to happen."

"It has to," Tim said, seeming to draw confidence from what he was suggesting. "In some form, it has to because you'll never find him if you don't let him find me."

"No one's perfect, McGee."

"I know that, but you don't have time."

"Why not?"

"Because I can't stay here forever. Because the case needs all the help it can get when I'm a part of the prosecutor's case. Because...you can't leave him out there where he might hurt someone else...or k-kill them this time."

"Like?"

"Anyone...anyone who might get in the way."

"Like Ducky?"

Tim nodded.

"I have a plan," Tim said.

"A plan?"

"Yes. A plan. It'll work."

"Why are you so sure?"

"Because...I'm his target."

"And is this plan going to leave you dead?"

Tim swallowed. "Not...Not if you do your job...right." He swallowed again, clearly afraid...but of what, Gibbs didn't know. "...but at least you can know that if something goes wrong...not much will be lost."

"No, McGee," Gibbs said and stood up, feeling a bit of frustration when Tim backed away from him. "No. Nothing is going to happen if you keep thinking of yourself like that. I'm not risking you leaving this building if you don't think you have any value."

"Not...as much as..."

"No!" Gibbs said again. "I won't accept that. If you want me to agree to some _plan_ you've made, then you need to prove to me that you aren't going to play some twisted version of a martyr."

"I can't...prove that...not in the time we have."

"What time is that?"

"Before the trial starts...before someone else gets killed or hurt to get at me. We don't have time!"

"How do you know that?"

"Because...he's...I've seen him around. I've seen him walking around me and not doing anything. Now that he's started trying to kill me. He's not going to stop until he does. So we have to stop him...sooner rather than later."

Gibbs looked at Tim speculatively. The one problem he had was that he could tell that, if he actually did say no, Tim would try to do it anyway. It wouldn't matter whether he had help or not. ...but he was actually coming to Gibbs now to get help. That meant something, and while Gibbs himself was skeptical, he could see that this was an important step.

"What's your plan?" he asked finally.

He was rewarded with an expression of relief...almost a smile as Tim sat down, relaxing slightly, ready to talk.

"I'll wear a vest if you think I should."

"If it involves you being a target, then, I do."

Tim smiled slightly.

"It does. So...I guess I will. Um...so..."

Tim was suddenly hesitant again...afraid of having his idea rejected, Gibbs suddenly realized. He didn't quite trust Gibbs to really listen to him.

"What's your plan?" he asked again.

"We make it look like I really have snuck out, like I'm out to do...whatever. ...but you guys will be shadowing me, looking for him. He won't know exactly where I am, but he'll probably be set up around here somewhere watching for me. While he's watching for me, you'll be watching for him. You find him, take him down...arrest him or whatever...and we have more evidence for the trial...and he won't be trying to kill me anymore."

"Where would you go?"

"I'd leave from here on foot and head toward the Metro station. If nothing happens between here and there, I'd get on the Metro and head back to my apartment...but I wouldn't go to my apartment...I don't want to get Jed involved."

"Jed?"

"My neighbor," Tim said. "My friend. I wouldn't knowingly put him in danger...but he feels like he owes me; so he might get involved."

"Why does he owe you?"

"He doesn't. He just feels like he does."

"Why?"

Tim shrugged. "Nothing important. I'm not going to drag him into it, though."

"What if he doesn't find you there?"

"Then, I'll get back on the Metro and head for Ducky's place. Ducky won't be there."

Tim's face twisted slightly as he remembered just _why_ Ducky's home would be vacant. He looked away, and Gibbs saw the moment of trust fading as Tim thought about what had happened. It goaded him to speak.

"Do you think he's watching for you now?"

Tim didn't answer.

"McGee?"

Tim lifted his head, the haunted look fading slightly.

"What?"

"Do you think Collier is watching for you now?"

"He might not know where I am exactly, but I'll bet he is."

"Okay. So you tell me. If we do this, how are your shadows going to keep out of sight when you're walking on the sidewalk? And what about people walking by you?"

"If we do it at night, people will be less likely to be around. Easier to keep out of the way. One person could be driving...and Ziva's good at staying hidden. She could be on foot. ...and if you don't think that's enough, Abby or someone could be in MTAC...watching."

"Not Abby."

His dry comment was rewarded with a faint smile. Very faint, but genuine.

"Yeah...probably not Abby. Maybe Jamie?"

"And you think this will work?"

"Yes. I think he's decided that time's up and it's time for me to die."

"And you don't really care, do you."

"I don't know," Tim said and looked down again. "Sometimes...sometimes I care...sometimes, I don't."

"McGee?"

"Yeah?"

"Why does your neighbor feel like he owes you?"

"Because he's a good guy."

"You're not answering my question."

"I know."

"Why not?"

"Because it's...it's no big thing...and it was probably illegal."

Gibbs furrowed his brow. "What?"

"I just kept him from getting scammed is all. G-Gibbs, if you're accepting my idea, we should get going."

"Tonight?"

"Yes."

"Why not tomorrow?"

"Because..." Tim stood up and started to walk away.

"McGee, why tonight?"

"Because..." Tim stopped but didn't turn around. "Because tomorrow...I might not feel like I can do anything. I feel like I can right now and...and I don't usually feel this way."

That statement gave Gibbs an unexpected pang. The fact that Tim felt such helplessness, that it was his normal state of mind, was actually quite sad. Maybe that was why he suddenly decided to go along with Tim's plan. Risky though it was. Foolish though it might be. He suddenly really wanted Tim to feel as though he had some power of controlling the course of his life.

"Do you think you can do this, Tim?"

Tim spun around, shock visible on his face. His mouth opened and then closed.

"What?" Gibbs asked, genuinely confused. "What's wrong?"

"Is that who you think I am?"

"What do you mean?"

"Tim. Am I Tim to you?" Before Gibbs could formulate an answer, Tim turned back. "Do you remember that day in the park? You confronted me and instead of telling you what was going on in my head, I told you that I'd taken ecstasy...because it was the lesser of two evils as I saw it. It was the closest anyone ever got to getting me to confess what was going on in my head. You didn't know it, but all through that talk, it was like I was having two different conversations. One with you. One with Thomas. ...and I felt so out of place there. That park was too beautiful to have someone like me in it."

Gibbs said nothing, listening to Tim describe a moment he personally had almost forgotten.

"That was the time when Thomas started becoming who I was rather than a persona I put on. I was halfway there already, feeling so angry and resentful at how little respect I seemed to be getting. ...but after I talked with you, that was...it." Tim closed his eyes tightly, clearly remembering something painful. "Then...after that...Jewel asked me if I was using her. I said I was and she was using me. ...but I was worse because I knew better."

"So did she, Tim," Gibbs said softly. "We know who she was. She grew up in a good family and decided that wasn't what she wanted. She chose the life she had. It wasn't forced on her."

"Neither was mine."

"Yes, it was."

"No. I can't keep blaming anyone other than myself for what happened. It's me. All me."

"No. Some of it was, but, Tim, we can't pretend that we did nothing wrong. We all know that we made mistakes. Bad ones."

"So did I."

"Okay...but that doesn't change who you are, Tim. You're still Tim."

"I'm glad you're so confident," Tim said with a hint of bravado. Only a hint.

"Someone has to be."

Tim started to walk away and Gibbs looked at his computer.

"Hey, Tim?"

Tim stopped.

"Yeah?"

"There seems to be a strange background on my computer."

"Really?"

"Yeah..." Gibbs remember what Tim had said to him in the basement. "I don't know how to take it off. You think you could do that?"

Tim turned around, one eyebrow rising in surprise.

"Well?" Gibbs asked.

Tim walked back and looked at the computer screen.

"Looks familiar."

"I figured it would."

"I think I can do that. W-w-what do you want in its place?"

"What choices do I have?"

"Anything...anything that's on your computer."

"I don't care. Pick something."

"You sure you trust me? I don't have a g-g-good track record."

Gibbs only smiled. "I trust you."

Tim looked at him and then at the screen. He clicked a few things and the accusing eyes were gone. Then, Gibbs saw an image of the _USS Barry_ take the place of them.

"There. It's gone. I wish everything was that easy."

"So do I." Gibbs looked at Tim and decided that it was best to move on. A couple of steps had been taken. Maybe more later. "You ready to tell Tony and Ziva your plan?"

The fear was back almost instantly. "You think they'll listen?"

"Of course."

"Okay."

Gibbs had Tim tell Tony and Ziva his plan. Whatever doubts they might have had, they said nothing about them. Instead, they focused on making sure that they knew where they'd be to watch Tim, where they'd be able to protect him without being seen. It would mean a late night for them all, but the prospect of taking down Collier and getting him out of the way was too tempting to pass up, even if they'd wanted to.

By the time ten o'clock rolled around, Tim was walking out of NCIS.


	36. Chapter 36

**Chapter 36**

Jimmy poked his head in the door.

"Dr. Mallard? Are you awake?"

"If I wasn't, Mr. Palmer, I would be now."

Jimmy winced. "Oops. Sorry."

"It's all right, lad. Come in. Needless to say, I'm not doing anything important."

Jimmy walked into Ducky's hospital room. He hated seeing Ducky laid out like this. It was a painful reminder that the good doctor was not as young as his energy sometimes made him seem. Right now, he just looked...old.

"How are you feeling?"

"About the same as I was this morning when you asked me the same question."

"Sorry," Jimmy said again.

"No need to apologize," Ducky said shifting slightly in his bed. "I'm just feeling irritated at being stuck here while there is so much that needs addressing."

"Tim is doing okay."

"Yes, but not stellar, I'm sure."

"He was using the typewriter before I left."

"He did use it?"

"Yeah. He seemed really into it. Almost obsessed with it. I asked him what he was typing, but he didn't answer. It seemed to help."

"In what respect?"

"I think...they've made a plan. Whatever it is, Tim is part of it."

Ducky furrowed his brow, uncertain if it was just the painkillers that were making this difficult to follow or if Jimmy was simply being unhelpful.

"Plan?"

"To catch the guy who shot you. When I was leaving, they were all talking, and Tim was with them. They even went into MTAC."

"Do you know what the plan is?"

Jimmy shook his head. "They didn't tell me. I don't know if they told Abby either...but Tim is a part of it because he was with them."

"How did he seem?"

"More like he used to be...but still not really great."

"I suppose any improvement should be thought of as good., but...what could they be doing with him?"

"I don't know."

"Mr. Palmer, do you know what the worst part of my injury is?"

"Being stuck in the hospital?"

"Yes, but more than that...it is the fact that I must admit I cannot do anything to help those who need it."

"You mean Tim?"

"Mostly, but any of them. I cannot try to offer alternatives to risky propositions. If Timothy is involved, I feel that it must be dangerous."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim left the Yard and started walking toward the Metro station. As he walked, he could feel every particle of himself grow tense, on edge...afraid. He was looking around, his eyes straining to catch any sign of Collier. The last time he'd felt like this was...

_...when I was undercover..._

And look at how well _that_ had turned out. Tim swallowed. Jewel dead, his mind in tatters, and the lives of everyone around him in upheaval. He started to shake a little bit, his mind relentlessly replaying those moments that had led to his current, miserable present.

_No. Stop. You can't end all this if you're being stupid. Be an idiot on your own time._

The mental lecture helped him refocus on what he was doing. He kept walking, trying not to think about all those things...but he couldn't calm that hyperawareness. He noticed the faces of every person he passed. He could have counted each car driving down the street. His mind quivered with tension and fear. He had thought he was tense before, but this was just like being undercover again.

Nothing happened on the way to the Metro. So Tim went into the station and waited for the train to come, the one that would take him to his apartment. He looked to the side and saw Ziva waiting halfway down. She didn't even so much as glance in his direction. Instead, when the train came a few minutes later, she got on. Tim took a breath and did the same.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

A car pulled up to the curb and a figure stepped out of the shadows. He got into the passenger side.

"Any sign, Boss?"

"No. No sign," Gibbs said, hitching his burden onto his shoulder.

Tony looked down the street. No sign of anyone suspicious.

"You think McGee is right and Collier will be watching for him?"

"I think it's a distinct possibility. And I don't like McGee being a target."

"He's a target anyway, Boss," Tony said. "At least, this way, we'll be watching for him, too."

"Yeah."

They drove to Tim's apartment and Gibbs got out, melting into the darkness. Tony continued on his way, watching for any sign of someone out of place. ...someone besides him.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Ziva got off the train and watched as Tim did the same. He took a breath and then started to walk. She was worried about him, but she hadn't said anything against his plan, as Tony hadn't. It just seemed better to try and keep Tim safe than to hold him back.

...but still she was worried.

She also didn't like walking in this neighborhood at night. It wasn't safe.

Tim began walking down the sidewalk, in the general direction of his apartment, but Gibbs had said that he had no intention of going there, not wanting to put his friend in danger. He walked, but she could tell that he was nervous. He kept glancing around furtively. He was clearly anxious...not that that was any different from how she'd _been_ seeing him since he'd reappeared. Hopefully, his reactions wouldn't clue Collier in on what was going on, if he was even in the area.

Tim turned the corner and Ziva lost sight of him for a moment. She quickened her pace slightly without seeming to. When she reached the street, she saw Tim under a streetlamp a few feet away. She caught a glimpse of Tony driving by. He didn't slow down or anything, but he would be on the alert, she knew. ...and Gibbs would have placed himself in a space with a good view. Tim was as protected as he could be. She desperately hoped it would be enough to keep Collier from killing him.

Suddenly, Tim stopped dead in his tracks. He looked across the street...and then, he looked back...directly at her. She was about to gesture for him not to blow her cover when Tim began to sprint, straight toward her. Realizing that he felt there was danger around, she began to look, to spy the threat Tim had apparently seen.

She caught the glint of a gun across the street in the shadows and started to raise her hand to contact Tony and Gibbs... just as a bullet rang out. Tim was staring at her...and then, he jerked forward, ramming into her, dragging them both to the ground.

Ziva heard screams all around, but she was relieved that she could feel Tim's chest moving up and down, feel his heart thumping rapidly. He was still alive.

Then, there were three more shots and a squeal of tires. Tony pulling to a stop, perhaps? Quickly, Ziva struggled out from underneath Tim, drawing her gun and looking around for a renewal of the threat. A question was niggling at the back of her mind, though. Why had Tim run toward her? Why not just get out of the line of fire?

She heard a groan and spared a glance to Tim on the ground. He'd been wearing a vest. The bullet had hit him in the back somewhere. He should have been okay... but now, she was worried. A bullet would hurt, but it shouldn't be so debilitating. ...unless it had got through.

She looked across the street and saw Tony bending over someone in the shadows...and then Gibbs came out of the building just beside her, rifle in hand.

"Got him," he said briefly.

Ziva nodded and holstered her weapon, turning her full attention on Tim, who still hadn't moved.

"McGee?"

Only a groan answered her. She lifted his shirt.

"Gibbs," she said urgently.

"What?"

"The vest didn't stop the bullet. McGee is bleeding."

Gibbs looked away from her, toward Tony. Ziva only glanced and saw him dragging a man to his feet. Satisfied, she returned to Tim.

"Ambulance!" Gibbs called.

Tony must have given a positive sign because Gibbs then knelt down beside her.

"McGee," he said.

One shaking hand emerged from the dark heap on the ground.

"Can you hear me?"

"Y-Yeah..."

"Okay. We need to get your vest off. The bullet got through."

"'Kay...fine."

"Roll him."

Ziva nodded and carefully turned Tim onto his side, revealing his face for the first time. His eyes were tightly closed, his expression one of pain. His breath whistled through his clenched teeth.

"You will be fine, McGee," Ziva said, hoping that was true. It was all a matter of the angle of the bullet's path...something she couldn't discern with the vest on.

"Hurts...bad..." Tim said softly.

She opened the vest and saw no exit wound. Was that good or bad? Probably bad. Carefully, she shifted Tim around until she could get the vest off one arm. Then, she tossed the useless thing to the side and lifted Tim's shirt...which was stained with blood. Fragments of the vest and his shirt were more than likely embedded in the wound. That _was_ bad.

"Collier?" she asked as she began to apply pressure to Tim's injured side.

"Shot him. Didn't kill him." Gibbs paused for a moment. "He was wearing a vest."

Ziva shook her head. It didn't seem fair. Then, Tim's hand reached out toward her.

"Z-Ziva..."

"The ambulance is coming, McGee. Just wait. You will be–"

"No...he...at you." Tim let out a loud groan and twisted away from her. "...aiming...at you."

"At me?" Ziva repeated.

"Yes... Not safe...here."

"Collier's under arrest, McGee," Gibbs said. "You don't have to worry about him anymore."

Tim's eyes opened slightly and he turned his head toward Gibbs.

"No one...hurt?"

"No. No one."

"Except you," Ziva said.

An ambulance could be heard, its siren wailing as it came up the street.

"Why did you not just warn me?" Ziva asked.

"No time...I was...wearing a vest... You weren't. Stop...the bullet." Tim whimpered. "This...really hurts. More than...than before."

"The bullets didn't get through before, McGee," Gibbs said. His tone was dry, but Ziva could tell he was concerned. Without an exit wound, they had no way of knowing what path the bullet had taken and they had no way of knowing if Tim was on the verge of dying or if he would pull through.

They had no time for more words, however, because the ambulance arrived and Tim was taken away very quickly. No lingering on these streets at night.

Ziva watched as the ambulance left, thinking about the strange turn of events...and then, in an instant she understood. She understood what had just happened and she understood why Collier had done what he did. Collier knew Tim. He had shown that from the beginning. It was just that none of them had realized how thoroughly he understood his target, even though they had all the evidence in the world to reveal it to them. Collier had known how to make Tim look unstable without even hurting him: all the muggings and making sure he was seen here and there. He had known how to manipulate the situation by implicating Tim in a murder. He had known who to target in order to get Tim to leave his place of refuge: his closest friend, Ducky.

...and he had known how to get Tim perfectly in his sights: Aim at someone else and let his supposed target be known.

Collier knew Tim better than any of the team had...better than Tim had known himself...because Collier had understood that Tim would not let someone else get hurt if he could stop it. No matter what it would take. Even when Tim had hated them. Even when he had been angry and hurt, his mind on the verge of collapsing, Tim had chosen to save the team rather than let them die at Jewel's hands...because Tim couldn't let innocent people get killed.

"He has not changed so much as I thought he had," she murmured.

"Who?" Gibbs asked.

"McGee. We all thought of him as a different person. Collier knew differently. The man who wished to kill him is the one who knew him best. We who were trying to keep him alive did not take the time to understand...instead assuming that we knew who he was."

Gibbs looked at her and then across the street where Tony had Collier cuffed and in the back of the car.

"Maybe it's time to change that," he said.

"It is past time, Gibbs," Ziva replied. "In fact, it may be too late."

"It's only too late if McGee has decided it is. Otherwise...there's a chance."

He walked across the street as the first of many Metro police showed up. Ziva took a deep breath. Even though they all would like to know how Tim was doing, it was clear that they wouldn't be leaving anytime soon.

Squaring her shoulders, she walked over to join the rest of the team. There had been many mistakes made from day one, but they would not make a mistake this time that would let Collier go free.


	37. Chapter 37

**Chapter 37**

Ducky shifted position. He wasn't sure how he needed to move in order to give his shoulder the most relief. So far, he had tried a number of positions, but only lying down seemed to work...which was why his doctors had resisted his request at first. However, he had persisted and they had given in.

Now, he sat beside Tim's bed. He'd been assured that Tim's injuries, while serious, were not severe and he would recover. ...but he wouldn't really believe it until he saw Tim awake for himself. So many things had gone so very wrong in the last few weeks. Tim needed something to go right, and Ducky was afraid that this would be the last straw. He was terrified that Tim would take this as yet another sign.

With a soft sigh, Ducky watched as Tim slept.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim woke up...and wished he hadn't. He ached all over from head to toe...with a special center of pain in his back. He tried to change position, but that turned out to be a bad idea. He hissed at the increased pain.

"Timothy? You're awake?"

Tim turned his head.

"Ducky?" he asked in a voice barely above a whisper. Speaking more loudly took too much effort.

Sure enough. Ducky was sitting in a wheelchair beside his bed.

"Should...you be up yet?"

Ducky smiled. "I am here with strict orders not to stay too long. The doctors estimated that you'd be waking soon and allowed me to come to see you."

"I wish I wasn't...awake, that is," Tim said and winced. "How bad?"

"It could have been much worse from what I was told. The bullet was designed to pierce your vest and it was only luck that the trajectory was shifted away from vital organs."

"Oh. So...he must have known," Tim said.

"Yes...or at least, he suspected."

"So much...for my great idea."

"Timothy...what were you thinking?"

Tim smiled wearily. "When?"

"When you stepped in front of that bullet," Ducky said.

Tim closed his eyes. "I was thinking...he's going to kill Ziva. I have to stop him."

"That's all? Nothing else?"

"I don't remember thinking anything else."

To Tim's surprise, Ducky reached out with his uninjured arm and squeezed Tim's shoulder tightly...so tightly that it almost hurt.

"That's good to hear, Timothy."

"Why?"

"Let's just say that there are other things that would have been frightening if you had thought them."

"Like...I hope this time he kills me?"

"Yes," Ducky said quietly. "Like that. Were you thinking that?"

Tim shifted position painfully so that he could look at Ducky more easily. Then, he was quiet for a few minutes.

"Timothy?"

"No. No...I wasn't thinking that. I just...couldn't let him kill Ziva...not when it was supposed to be me in danger."

It was Ducky's turn to remain silent for a while.

"Have you typed anything?" he asked finally.

"Yes."

"What?"

"A lot of stuff," Tim said, thinking of all the pages lying on the table. "Mostly about me."

Ducky smiled. "That's permitted."

"Kind of selfish, isn't it?"

"Perhaps, but occasionally, some self-reflection is a good idea."

"Is that what I'm doing?"

Ducky laughed. "I can't tell. Are you?"

"Ducky...things feel...different."

"In what way?"

"I was worried...about them."

"There's nothing wrong with that."

"I know...but..." Tim couldn't explain...but then, he met Ducky's gaze and saw only concern there. No fear, no real anxiety...and he realized that it had been a very long time since he'd seen Ducky like that. How long? Since before he'd quit NCIS, probably. A long time.

"What is it, Timothy?"

"I...don't think I'm thinking straight," Tim said and managed to smile.

"Do you think you're up to having a visitor?"

"Who?"

"Ziva. She has been waiting to make certain you were all right. She is worried about you."

"Um...okay." Tim was uncertain about seeing her...and it was clear that Ducky noticed.

"It's not required. I think she wishes to thank you for your actions."

Tim hitched his shoulder and then winced. Anything requiring movement right now hurt. He couldn't believe that this wasn't life threatening. It sure _felt_ like it was.

"Really, Timothy. You don't have to see her if you don't wish to."

"I'll...I'll see her, Ducky. It's okay."

"Very well. I'm guessing my doctors will want me to get back to my room in any case." He looked back and Tim followed his gaze. "As you see, there they are."

Sure enough. Tim could see a doctor or a nurse or someone outside the door.

"You can go, Ducky," he said. "I'm...I guess I'm going to be okay?"

"As far as I know, lad. Your injuries will heal...in time."

As usual, there seemed to be more to the simple statement than just a declaration of Tim's eventual physical recovery. The nurse came in and fussed over Ducky who rolled his eyes at Tim but said nothing in complaint as she wheeled him away. Tim leaned back in the bed as another doctor came in...his own, he assumed.

"Hello, Mr. McGee. How are you feeling?"

"Like I got shot," Tim said. "This isn't going to kill me?"

The doctor smiled. "No. We had a few anxious moments in surgery while we removed the bullet and the rest of the debris in your wound, but while there is some risk for infection, the bullet did little damage."

"How is that possible?"

"Because you are extraordinarily lucky. The bullet entered your body at an angle that took it away from your internal organs. There was damage, of course, but no major organs or blood vessels were hit. You'll be in some pain for the next few days, but that will fade and as soon as we're sure that your wound won't turn septic, we'll release you. I'd guess that you could use some rest right now."

Tim nodded, but he remembered that he had a visitor.

"Wait...Ziva is...waiting to see me, I think."

"Yes. There is a young lady out in the waiting room. You want to talk to her?"

Want? That was a bit strong, Tim knew, but he felt that he needed to. She was there for a reason.

"Yes. Please."

"Not for long. You need to take the time to recover. Your body's taken quite a beating over the past few weeks."

"Yeah..." Tim agreed with a sigh...and a wince.

The doctor nodded in sympathy and then withdrew. A few seconds later, Ziva came in, almost tentatively.

"Hello, McGee," she said softly.

"Hi," Tim said.

"Thank you," she said.

Tim managed a smile. "It wasn't a big deal. You...You were out there to protect me."

"I am sorry."

"What for?" Tim asked. "You didn't shoot me...and I'm going to be okay."

"No. Not because of that."

"Then, what? ...because we don't need to get into everything again. I don't think...I could manage it right now."

Ziva smiled and shook her head. "No. It is not all that. It is..." She paused, as if thinking of what to say. "I am...sorry that Collier knew you so much better than the rest of us."

Surprised, Tim furrowed his brow. "What? What do you... What are you talking about?"

"Collier knew who you were. He...He understood you as I did not." Ziva sat down and leaned forward earnestly. "I think he understood you more than you understand yourself."

"But...he was trying to kill me."

"Yes...and he knew exactly how to get to you. He knew that you would want to save someone if you could...even if it was me. I thought you had changed, Tim, but you have not. Not inside. Some things _are_ different, but...who you are is still the same...and I am sorry that I never knew that, that I never saw it."

Tim stared at Ziva for a long moment. Occasionally, he tried to say something, but no words came out.

"I...I _am_ different," he said finally. "I'm not like I was."

"No...but you are not so different as I thought...as we _all_ thought. It was wrong of us." She hesitated. "...and it is wrong of you to think yourself as being so much worse than you were. You saved my life, McGee. If you were so much changed, you would have let him kill me."

"I couldn't do that."

Ziva smiled. "Exactly." Then, she stood up. "I will not take more time. You look tired and I am sure that my presence is not...relaxing for you. ...but I thank you for saving me."

Tim couldn't think of a single thing to say until the door had closed behind Ziva as she left.

"You're welcome," he whispered, almost in shock.

He _was_ tired, but after Ziva left, he couldn't sleep. He lay there, staring at the ceiling, thinking about what she had said.

The most amazing thing was that he couldn't hear Jewel's voice in his head while he considered the strange point of view Ziva had presented to him.

It wasn't until the painkillers kicked in again that he fell asleep, still pondering the latest developments in his life.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Gibbs walked up the stairs to the conference room. He wasn't sure what would happen next, but Tim wouldn't likely be coming back here when he was no longer a target.

The door was open slightly and when he pushed it all the way open, Tony spun around in surprise, a pile of paper in his hands.

"Boss...I know I...I shouldn't have...but I was coming in here to make sure his stuff was all...organized or whatever. I saw my name on a page." Tony shook his head. "I thought...it would be more of McGee being angry or just venting or something. It's not. It's... Boss, it's almost an apology, and it's not like I was doing things right. Why would he be apologizing to me? Why now?"

Gibbs looked at Tony and then at the typewriter. Funny how something like that could be so important to Tim. It was his way of working through things, facing things he couldn't face.

_Like my boats,_ he thought to himself.

Why had Tim cut himself off from something that could have been a lifeline for him during his self-imposed exile? Why use it to apologize?

"Because he thought he could do it now," Gibbs said quietly. "Make sure nothing gets misplaced."

"What are we going to do with it?"

"Nothing beyond keep it safe until McGee can decide for himself."

Tony nodded. He looked back at the typewriter and then at the pages in his hands.

"Do you think he means it?"

Gibbs smiled. "Well...he did once. Maybe he can again. Don't know."

Then, he walked out of the conference room. There were people who needed to know where Tim was, what had happened. People who cared about him and hadn't ever given up on him. No matter what they thought of Tim's former coworkers, they needed to know these latest developments, to give Tim the support he'd likely need.

If he couldn't do anything else for Tim, Gibbs figured he could do that much.


	38. Chapter 38

**Chapter 38**

Over the next few days, Tim had quite a few visitors. His parents came as soon as Gibbs called them, but Matt and Judith were there first. They would sit with Tim for hours at a time, just talking with him, Chris sitting on his lap or leaning on his lap...until he fell asleep. Then, Tim foisted him off on Matt. There were also visits from Dr. Lewis who was very encouraging about all that was going on. His parents were almost excited about the fact that Tim seemed to be genuinely thinking about what's going on.

On his third day in the hospital, there was some infection, requiring antibiotics, but Tim rallied back from it and they planned on releasing him in the next week. Ducky had to stay for a few more days and was starting on physical therapy...which he hated but knew was necessary. Tim still felt horrible about what had happened to Ducky, but he didn't say anything. He liked seeing Ducky worried only about when he'd get back to work, whether or not Jimmy would destroy Autopsy in his absence, and how his domain would look when he got back. Tim didn't want to see the fear and anxiety return. So...he kept his thoughts to himself for the time being.

...but he was thinking. A lot. ...and a new thought began to form in his mind, one that seemed more and more like it was the right thing to do.

The only problem was that he'd have to ask for help to do it.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Matt?" Tim asked. He could almost smile. He'd laid out his plan and left Matt speechless.

"Tim...where did this idea come from?"

"My head. It's...just something that I've been thinking about for the last few days."

"Are you sure about this?"

"No...but I'm going to talk to Dr. Lewis tonight. ...and Ducky tomorrow."

Matt smiled. "So...why me first?"

"I thought you might be able to help."

"How?"

"I need a place."

"That's all? I can give you five."

Tim laughed and then winced slightly. "I...only need one."

Matt looked concerned. "This...worries me, Tim."

"How is that any different from every day of the last couple of years?"

"Well...now, I'm telling you instead of just stewing about it. If Dr. Lewis disagrees, will you listen to him?"

"Maybe...probably, but I think he'll agree with me."

"And Ducky? What about him?"

"I can't let Ducky talk me out of it."

"Why not?"

"Because...I think he needs this as much as I do...even if he can't admit it."

Matt took a breath and let it out as he thought about it.

"So...will you help?"

"Yeah...if only because I can tell that you'd probably do it without my help."

"I guess you know me pretty well."

"I'd like to think so." Matt looked solemn. "Tim...promise me one thing."

"What?"

"That you're not doing this to...punish yourself more."

Tim shook his head. "No...I think it's to...maybe start forgiving myself...for everything that's happened."

"I don't know if that's a lot better...but okay."

"Thanks."

"I'll tell you what I have and you can choose."

"I don't really need a lot of choices."

"I know, but I think you should get a chance to choose...just for fun."

Tim smiled. "Thanks. Matt...you and Judith...you've both been..."

"Don't mention it. You're a friend worth having, as I've said before."

"Thank you, though. Really."

"Tim...are you sure you're okay?"

"No...but I'm trying to be now. That's better than before."

"What made the difference?"

Tim turned his body slightly so that the bandage on his back could be seen. "This."

"Why that?"

"I can't explain it. It's made a difference, though."

"Well...I'll trust you, Tim. I don't think I can do anything else."

"Well, you could commit me again...but I don't think you need to." Tim's smiled wavered a little.

"You'd like that."

"Almost. Yeah."

Matt sat down beside Tim and put an arm around his shoulders.

"You've always got us, Tim. No matter what. So you do what you've got to do. I'll back you up."

"Thanks."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Ducky took a deep breath and rubbed gently at his shoulder. He was definitely feeling his age right now...and it wasn't something he enjoyed. He hoped to be home soon, but because of the nature of his injury, his doctors were being very careful.

There was a knock on the door, and Ducky was more than happy to let whoever it was inside. He was bored.

"Come in."

Tim stepped tentatively into the room. He was walking with the careful gait of the injured, but he was on his own two feet...a definite improvement.

"Hey, Ducky."

"Timothy! I haven't had the chance to see much of you in the last few days. How are you feeling?"

"Okay."

Okay would probably be the best word for it. Tim was still a bit pale from his most recent (and most serious) injury and the subsequent infection. He was too thin. He looked tired. ...but he seemed much less worried...about life.

"How are you doing?" he asked, clearly worried about _that_.

"Much better. I will confess to being tired of all the fuss, but I will tolerate it so long as I must. It could be much worse."

Tim nodded. Then, he took a deep breath.

"Ducky...I just wanted to...to thank you for everything you've done."

Ducky cocked his head to the side.

"That sounds rather ominous...as if you're getting ready to say good-bye."

"I am...for a while, at least."

"Meaning?"

Tim steeled himself to speak, even squaring his shoulders...getting ready to relate something he was sure Ducky would disagree with. Ducky almost smiled at the preparation.

"Meaning...that I'm leaving DC...for a while."

"How long?"

"I'm not sure just yet. As long as I can, I guess."

"How long will that be? How will you live?" Ducky asked.

"Matt is going to...let me use one of the places he either owns or rents. He gave me a list yesterday. I just have to figure out which one. I don't know if it's going to be the mountains or the beach. I just know that I'm going to go to one of them."

"How will you afford it?"

Tim gave a shamed smile. "Ducky...didn't you ever wonder where the money from my car went? Where the money from my book went?"

Ducky smiled in return. He _had_ wondered, but he had never asked.

"I assumed you had given it away."

"I wanted to. I was going to, but my parents told me to keep it," Tim said, trying to act nonchalant. "I wouldn't. I said that if I didn't give it to someone, I'd just throw it out the window. So they told me to give it to them and they'd keep it for me...whenever I decided to take it back. I never thought I would. I couldn't even imagine it...but I guess they could. Parents are smart like that. They can see farther down the road." Tim shrugged. "So...I have enough to live on for a while. I won't have to pay for where I'm staying...and Matt has insisted on paying my way to wherever I go."

"And when will you decide?"

Tim smiled a little. "When I can believe that I really have these choices. When I can believe that I'm really leaving."

"_Why_ are you leaving?"

Tim walked farther into the room and sat down.

"Please, tell me, Timothy."

"Because..." Tim looked at his hands. "...because I need to remember how it was not to be punishing myself for what I did. I need to get away from the place where I was making myself miserable because I thought I had to be. ...and I still do sometimes." He looked up. "I've been making DC into my prison, Ducky. It used to be my home. It used to be where I was really happy, but now, it's the place where I made myself as miserable and hopeless as I possibly could...because I deserved nothing better." He took another deep breath. "I need to remember how it was not to worry about everything, not to hate myself. ...not to...not to hear Jewel in my nightmares."

"And you can't do that here?"

"No. I can't. I need the...the separation. I need to be away, to cut myself off from all the things I've used as signs of my worthlessness. I'm trying to believe that there's more than just misery and self-loathing...but there's too much here that says differently."

Ducky was quiet for a moment, watching Tim, waiting for him to finish explaining himself...noticing the difference in the midst of things seeming to be so much the same. He wasn't sure about Tim's decision.

"What does Dr. Lewis say?"

"That I need to be careful, but if I'm sure that I'm doing this for the right reasons, then it could be a very good thing. ...so long as I don't cut myself off from the people who care about me. I've told my family already...and Matt and Judith, of course. ...and now, I'm telling you."

Ducky smiled. "And when you decide where you're going?"

"Do you want to know?"

"Yes, I do, Timothy."

"Are you sure?" Tim asked, and he smiled. "This is your chance to get away from me."

Ducky shook his head. "No, Timothy. This is _your_ chance to come to yourself, and if you're not opposed, I want to know where you'll be...and I want you to promise to contact me on occasion."

Tim looked down and his hands again. For a moment there was silence. Ducky started to say something, but then, Tim sniffed a bit and let out a shaky breath.

"Ducky...you've been...you've _done_ so much for me when you should have just given up. You've been there and...and I never could figure out _why_ you would bother trying to save me."

"Because I see only a man worth saving."

Ducky saw a couple of tears drip onto Tim's hands. Then, to Ducky's surprise, Tim laughed.

"If...If I were Abby...and if you weren't hurt right now...I'd give you a hug."

Ducky smiled. "Since you are _not_ Abigail, I'd imagine that a hug from you would be much less life-threatening."

Tim laughed again...and then, again, to Ducky's surprise, Tim stood up, leaned over and hugged Ducky very gently.

"Thank you, Ducky. Really. Thanks...I couldn't ever say thank you enough to make up for all the crap I've put you through. I couldn't ever do anything that would really...really show how grateful I am."

"You don't have to, Timothy," Ducky said, his voice soft. "You never have to thank me for that. I know you have a family who loves you, but I care for you as I imagine your parents must...or at least nigh unto it. Timothy, I have spent nights despairing for your future. I have spent days praying in my heart that you would survive to see another sunrise. I have feared that all I could ever do would never be enough to do any good. If you are now reaching a state where you can face the day with your own hope and with your own strength...if that is the case, then I will consider that to be thanks enough."

Tim let Ducky go and sat back, wiping at his eyes, trying to smile.

"Ducky...that night...when I...when I came to your house. I said this to you before, but you were...asleep. The part of me that wanted to be saved knew that you could do it. I knew that you could save me. ...and so I came to you for help. I knew you could save me."

"I could not have saved you had you not wanted to be saved."

"Even so...I knew you could do it...and you have. I've leaned you so much...so much more than I should have, than you should have let me lean. You were the one who kept telling me that I didn't deserve to die. You were the one who kept saying to me that I had a life to live. Even if I didn't listen, even if I didn't believe you...still, I heard it. ...and now...now, I'm ready to try."

"And you feel you must leave in order to succeed?"

"Yes."

"And this will not be permanent?"

"No."

"Good. I will miss you, lad. Very much."

"I'll miss you, but I think it will be better this way."

Ducky nodded, seeing determination where there had not been anything for months.

"I do have one question."

"Yeah?"

"What if the others ask where you are...after you've left?"

"They won't," Tim said, shaking his head.

"But if they do? Do you want me to keep your location a secret from them?"

"No," Tim said. "It's not going to be nearby. Even if they cared enough to ask...they wouldn't come. It wouldn't make sense for them to do it."

Tim seemed certain, but Ducky was very much _not_ certain that Tim's former coworkers would accept his disappearance with equanimity. Still, he didn't voice his thoughts. He just nodded.

"All right. You tell me, and if they ask, I will tell them where you are."

Tim nodded. "They won't ask, but that's fine."

"What about your typewriter?"

For the first time, Tim gave a genuine smile. "I'll be taking it with me. I think I need it."

"I think you do, as well."

"I've already talked with the prosecutors and they'll contact me if I'm needed...but with Collier in custody...they say they'll make a deal with him. I wish they wouldn't, but he's going to testify in exchange for a lighter sentence. That'll make the evidence I collected seem much more solid. They may not need my testimony at all."

"That's good."

"He shot you," Tim said, darkly.

"Yes, but I survived and now his testimony will make things easier for you and for me. I will live with that...literally."

Tim smiled reluctantly...and then jumped a little when the door opened behind him. Ducky didn't like seeing that jumpiness returning...but it was much less than it had been, and if Dr. Lewis was willing to go along with Tim's idea, then he would trust that it would work out.

"Dr. Mallard, it's time for your physical therapy," the nurse said.

"Ah, alas, Timothy, I can't put this off."

Tim shook his head and stood up gingerly, wincing a bit in reaction to the movement.

"No. I have some...decisions to make, Ducky. I'll see you before I go."

"You had better," Ducky said with mock severity. "Otherwise, I shall be forced to track you down myself."

Another hesitant smile and then Tim excused himself.

"You seem much more chipper today than you were yesterday, Dr. Mallard," the nurse said.

Ducky looked after Tim's departing figure and smiled to himself.

"I am...much better than I was," he said. "Take me to my next battle, my dear. I feel ready to take on a dragon!"

The nurse laughed and helped Ducky into his wheelchair. As they headed for the physical therapy room, Ducky couldn't help but look on the coming days with hope.


	39. Chapter 39

**Chapter 39**

_One week later..._

"I don't know. It seems so...stereotypical," Tim said.

Matt laughed. "It's not stereotypical. It's north. You're not going to get white sandy beaches up in this area...but you _will_ get some time alone if you want it, and company if you need it."

"It's still on the beach."

"Tim, _you're_ the one who picked this place. If you don't like it..."

"I _do_. It just feels so...normal."

Matt smiled. "Tim, you _need_ some normal in your life."

"I guess...you're right. Um...so...yeah. That's the one."

Chris came running into the living room, his arms out, making his Tim-goo sound.

"Tim, maybe it's time that we try to teach him your name."

Tim reached down and picked up Chris, only wincing slightly. Chris threw his arms around Tim's neck and kissed his cheek. Tim laughed and hugged Chris, trying not to let the tears show.

"I don't...don't mind, Matt. I really don't."

Chris laughed and sat down on Tim's lap, looking impishly at his father before sticking out his tongue. Matt returned the gesture.

"He'll sometimes say 'Mom' and 'Dad'. So we _know_ he can talk. He just doesn't think he needs to." Matt leaned over and mock scowled at Chris. "He's milking this for all it's worth. Aren't ya?"

Chris just laughed.

"So..." Matt looked up at Tim. "...Maine?"

"Yeah...Maine. Are you sure you want to fly me up there?"

"Absolutely. Just give me a couple of days to make sure the electricity is on and the water and stuff. I'll have to call and get the plane ready anyway."

"Matt...you lead a charmed life."

"No way. I worked hard for everything I've got. Yes, I've been blessed for it, but I didn't get all this from rich parents. You've met them."

"Yeah, I have. But thank you for all of this."

"Least I could do. What are you going to do about that hole-in-the-wall you've been living in?"

Tim took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I'm...giving it up."

"Really?"

"Yeah. I need to pack up all my stuff and get it put...somewhere. Not that I have a whole lot of stuff there. A lot of it should probably be junked."

"What will you do when you come back?"

Another deep breath. "I don't know yet. I'm going to stay away for a while, try to figure myself out again. I...I can't think that far ahead yet. I know I need to...but I can't right now."

"Hey, that's all right. The house is yours for as long as you want it. If you need to crash here for a while later on, you can. Would you mind having the occasional visitor?"

"Not if it's you and Judith...and Chris, of course."

"We'll call first."

"Thanks."

Matt sighed. "I won't ask again," he said.

Tim smiled. "I still think this is the right thing to do."

"Guys! Dinner!"

"Coming, hon!" Matt called back. He stood up and pulled Chris off Tim's lap. "You'd better be ready to eat, Tim. Judith is still lamenting how thin you are. She thinks that a stiff breeze could blow you right over."

"I'm sturdier than I look...but not much more."

"Maybe you should wait a bit until you get a bit stronger."

Tim shook his head as he stood up.

"No. I'm going as soon as I can. I really need to get away. I've needed to do this for a long time. I just haven't ever done it."

"All right. I'll stop nagging. You take care of yourself, though, Tim."

"Yes, mother."

Matt smiled but his tone was serious. "I mean it, Tim. If you're going to try and get yourself straightened out, you need to take care of yourself."

"That's right," Judith said as they walked into the kitchen. "And that starts right here. Sit down, Tim."

"Yes, ma'am."

"I won't try to make you eat everything on the table, but you'd better be full when you stop eating. We have plenty."

Tim smiled. "I think I can manage that."

"Good. Matt, it's your turn to say the blessing."

Matt got a squirming Chris into his high chair and then nodded. As he said the short blessing on the meal, Tim couldn't help but wonder what would come of this new decision he'd made. He really hoped it was the right one.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

_The next day..._

Tim pulled up to his apartment...well, he was a passenger in Jimmy's car. He hadn't been back here for a while and, after staying with Matt for the last few days, the difference in quality was quite startling.

"You ready to go, Tim?" Jimmy asked.

"Yeah. I'm ready. I'm ready."

Tim got out of the car and headed up to his apartment, Jimmy trailing behind. Obviously, Ducky couldn't be there to help, and Abby had been called into work. ...and Tim wasn't about to ask anyone else. He had very little desire to reveal his living conditions to anyone.

When they got up to his door, Jed came out almost instantly.

"Tim! Where you been?"

Tim smiled. "Hey, Jed. Just some...chaos I had to deal with."

"Chaos, huh? You're looking pretty run down. What's up?"

"I'm moving out."

Jed nodded. "About time."

"What?" Tim asked in surprise.

"You never did fit in here, Tim. About time you got back where you belong."

"And where's that?"

"Anywhere not here...pretty much."

"What about you?"

"What _about_ me? I've carved out my little place in the world, and thanks to you, it's a bit better than it was."

Tim flushed and shook his head.

"Don't even start on the denial, Tim. I know better. You here to help him out?" Jed asked Jimmy suddenly.

"Yeah?"

"Good. Get him out of here."

"Yes, sir!" Jimmy said enthusiastically...and then saluted.

Jed returned the salute in true military fashion and then shooed them away. Tim opened his door and let Jimmy in. They looked around at what was there.

"What are you taking with you and what are you tossing?" Jimmy asked.

"Yeah, McGee. What needs to go out to the trash?"

Tim spun around at the unexpected voice.

"T-Tony!" he stuttered.

Tony smiled slightly.

"Y-You should be at...at work!"

"I'm sick," Tony answered without even a hint of embarrassment.

"What...What are you...doing here?" Tim asked.

"Hauling stuff out to the trash since that's what you seem to need."

"Why?"

"Many hands make light work...or so I've heard."

Tim just gaped at him.

"McGee...you're packing up?"

"Uh...uh...yeah...right...um... Everything in the...the kitchen...part of the room...that can all be tossed. It's no good. I'm...going to pack up my...my clothes."

Jimmy smiled. "And me?"

"I'm keeping my books. All of them."

"Okay. I'll start boxing them up."

"Thanks." Tim looked at Tony who'd gone over to the kitchen without any further comment.

They worked in a silence that varied only in the level of tension in the air. It was considerably less when either Tim or Tony was out of the room. Still, there wasn't much to pack up. Tim was keeping his clothes, his books. Not much else. Then, he looked at his record player.

"Wait," he said before Jimmy could pack it into a box.

"What?"

Tim picked up the record player.

"Could you get the records?"

"I got them," Tony said.

They walked out of Tim's apartment and to Jed's door. Tim knocked...with his elbow.

"What is it?"

"Jed?"

The door opened.

"What are you doing, Tim?"

"I want you to have this, Jed."

"Couldn't do that. Couldn't take what's yours."

"Not permanently...but for now. I don't need it for now...and I'd like to know that they're being listened to. You'll appreciate it."

"You really want to leave this here?"

Tim smiled. "Then, I can come and get it later."

"All right. I suppose if you mean it...the least I can do for you."

"You don't owe me anything, Jed."

"Course I do."

"No! I told you before. You don't owe me a thing."

"Why would you?" Tony asked.

"Hey, fed," Jed said with a smile. "Your friend here doesn't think that standing up for a poor old man is a good reason to owe a favor."

"You would have figured it out," Tim said with a side glance at Tony.

"What?" Tony asked.

Jed grinned at Tim and then focused on Tony. "You see...Tim here was walking down the hall when he saw two guys at my door. They were saying that they had a bill I hadn't paid and that if I didn't pay them right then, they'd be forced to report me to some such place."

"It was a scam," Tim muttered. It _still_ made him mad. "Jerks."

"Well, I couldn't read the paper. Too small of print for me to decipher it. Sometimes, the mail isn't too good at being delivered on time. It was possible."

"But it was wrong," Tim said. "I could tell by the way they weren't letting him get a good look at the _bill_. They were holding it out of his reach, hoping he'd just pay."

Jed laughed. "Mr. Nosy here stormed over and grabbed the bill and then read it out loud for me. It was a fake. As soon as he read off the company and what they were supposedly charging me for, I knew it for certain. They weren't too happy about that."

"What did they do?" Tony asked.

"Nothing," Tim said...and instantly knew that it wasn't going to fly. Jed was enjoying himself too much.

"Nothing? They slammed you against the wall and you think that's nothing?"

"Didn't even leave a mark," Tim said. "If I'd been smart I would have got their names and stuff."

"Wouldn't have mattered," Jed said. "But he did that for me and he was a bit dazed by the blow. So I took him into his apartment and saw his records. He's been good enough to share them."

Tim put the record player on the table...and then took the records from Tony.

"Just keep them for a while. I'll come back to get them. Promise."

Jed just laughed and nodded. "All right, Tim. That's a promise." Then, he got a little gruff. "I'll miss you around here."

Tim swallowed and smiled. "Yeah. Me, too."

"Well, you've done what you wanted. Now, go on. Get out of here."

"Okay. Thanks, Jed."

"Thank _you_, Tim."

Tim shook hands with Jed and then they all left.

"That's a good thing you did, McGee," Tony said.

Tim shrugged. "S-Someone had to."

"I'll bet no one else would have."

"Probably not. Not around here." Tim screwed up his courage and looked Tony in the eye. "Thanks...for helping out."

"No problem. That everything?"

"Yeah."

"All right. I guess I've miraculously recovered and I'll get to work. I'm glad you're doing better."

"Thanks," Tim said and then his courage failed him and he looked away from Tony...and only listened as he walked down the steps.

"Hey, Tim?"

"Yeah, Jimmy?"

"That it?"

"Yeah. I'm ready to go."

"You sure?" Jimmy asked with surprising perspicacity.

Tim looked at him and smiled. "Yeah. I'm ready."

"You haven't told them, have you."

"No. They won't care."

"That's not true...and you know it."

Tim just shrugged and walked out of the building, leaving a part of his life behind.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

_Four days later..._

Tim walked into the house. It wasn't monstrous by any means, but it was plenty big...and it looked out on a small, private beach. The beach wasn't white and sandy. Mostly rocks...with a bit of sand, yes. It was secluded. This house was the only one in the area. But there was a small town not far away. There was a car he could use. Matt had even promised a bicycle if he was interested in that. The fridge was stocked and he wouldn't need to go shopping for a while.

He looked around and took a deep breath. He was in a place with absolutely no connotations for him. No positive or negative associations. If there was anywhere a reset could take place, it was here.

_I have time. Finally, I have time._

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"I thought he was staying with you, Ducky," Gibbs said.

"He's not."

"He go back to Ohio?"

Ducky shook his head as he prepared to leave the hospital. He had asked Gibbs for a ride...knowing that it would cause Gibbs to ask why Tim wasn't doing it.

"No."

"Where is he, then?"

"Maine, I believe."

"Why Maine?"

"To be alone and to figure himself and his life out. He decided it couldn't be done here."

Gibbs paused for a few seconds and then nodded.

"How long?"

"I don't know...beyond that it will likely be more than a few weeks. I believe his friend provided him with a place to stay."

"And he wanted to be alone?"

"Yes."

"He keeping in contact with _someone_?"

"Yes. I made him promise to talk to me. I believe he will be talking with his psychiatrist once a week. Matt and Judith are already planning on paying him a visit."

Gibbs nodded again and drove Ducky home in silence. When they arrived, Ducky got carefully out of the car and Gibbs helped him inside. After making sure that he was settled, Gibbs headed for the front door...and then stopped.

"McGee know you'd be telling us?"

"He didn't think you'd ask, but he didn't prohibit me from sharing his whereabouts."

One more nod and Gibbs walked toward the door...only to stop again.

"Let me know...how he's doing."

"Of course."

Then, Gibbs walked out. Ducky sighed a little and then smiled. He guessed that there would be subtle and not-so-subtle questions from here on.

And he was glad of it.


	40. Chapter 40

**Chapter 40**

_Two months later..._

"Ducky! Welcome back!" Tony said with genuine glee.

Ducky smiled. "It's lovely to be back, Anthony." He waited, mentally counting. _One...two...three...four...five...si-..._

"Have you heard from McGee?"

Another smile. "Yes. I spoke to him just yesterday."

Ziva perked up instantly and even Gibbs raised his head.

"How is he doing?" Ziva asked.

"He had a couple of bad days last week, he told me, but he is doing better. He knew that I was coming back to work to day and he wanted to wish me luck."

"Is he coming back?" Ziva asked.

"Not yet. He has not even _intimated_ that he wants to yet. Right now, he simply wishes to be alone...although his friends have visited him a couple of times, as has his family."

"Are _you_ going up there?" Tony asked.

"Once I'm resettled, yes. I do plan on making the trek. Actually, Matt has insisted that I join them on their next visit."

Ducky noted some slight expressions of envy. They had kept up asking about how Tim was doing ever since his rather abrupt departure. Not every day, but while they were reluctant to suggest talking to him themselves, they did want to know. It was as if all the concern they had not shown (whether felt or not) in the months before was coming out now.

"But he's all right?"

"Yes. He is."

"Welcome back," Gibbs said.

"Thank you, Jethro...although I'm not sure whether it will be more or less frustrating to have to defer to Mr. Palmer's steadier hands for the next few weeks."

"At least you get to hover," Tony said.

Ducky chuckled. "Yes, there is that. I'd best get down there. I can't have him arrive before I do."

He headed to the elevator and sent it down to Autopsy. He was glad to be back...and, although it wasn't perhaps the best for all concerned, he was glad the others were showing interest in Tim's status. How much hope they actually had for Tim returning...how much they actually _wanted_ him to return...that didn't matter because they actually cared about him again. If Tim could believe that, it would probably more than half the battle.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

_Three weeks later..._

Tim sucked in his breath sharply and sat up in bed, looking around in a panic for a few seconds before he remembered where he was. The nightmares weren't as frequent, but when they came, they were still just as disturbing.

There was a hint of sunlight. Near dawn, then. Good. Tim got out of bed and headed for the beach. As he walked outside, he shivered slightly. It was getting on toward fall and there was a definite chill in the air early in the morning. Still, he appreciated the complete solitude he had here. It had been a long time that he'd been able to sit...alone...and just be alone. Granted, sometimes, he returned to the bad habit of beating himself down, but his solitude was often punctuated by people checking in on him.

Sometimes, he told himself he was being selfish in coming here, in expecting people to come to him rather than going to them. He would begin to berate himself for being cowardly and weak. ...and in those times, when he didn't stop it, he knew he could sink very low. Those were the times he called someone...usually apologizing profusely for not dealing with all this himself, for intruding on their personal time, for being a nuisance. ...and he was always told it was all right. He tried to believe it and he usually succeeded to some degree. It just took some time...and effort.

When he got out to the beach, he watched the waves. Still shivering a little, he sat down on the sand, digging his toes into it and then he watched the water. The ocean had it so easy. Roll in. Roll out. No further thought necessary. It was all about just moving according to the pull of gravity...sometimes, the wind came up and whipped the waves into white crests. He'd seen two amazing storms during his time here. Another blow was expected in the next few days. He'd seen the clouds on the horizon and he was almost excited for it to come. There was something...invigorating about the storms. Lightning flashing. Rain pouring down in torrents. Wind roaring through the trees, sometimes bending them almost in half. Amazing.

As he sat on the beach, he let his mind wander to the dream he'd had. All his nightmares were still focused on Jewel. It was still her voice that told him he was a criminal. He was a horrible person. He was a plague on the world. It was still her voice, and the images he saw still frightened him. Deaths, chases, bullets flying...and his own hand holding the gun, his fingers pulling the trigger. ...but at the same time, it was better. He woke up afraid, but not screaming...not most of the time anyway. He could usually tell himself that it was only a dream and calm down.

Like today. The bleeding mirror, reflecting Jewel's face. He woke up, terrified of that image...but now, he was almost calm again, almost able to think about it logically.

Almost.

Tim sighed, and his stomach started to growl. That meant breakfast. He was starting to listen to himself again, and he had faithfully promised to eat. In fact, in the nearly three months that he'd been here, he'd put on ten pounds. With a wry smile, he thought about his doctor at the psychiatric hospital. He'd be so pleased. Of course, all the weight Tim had lost in the course of the case that had thrown him back into the path of NCIS would have made him groan. It was a problem, but he was still gaining weight. That was good. Even he could admit to that much.

Another growl. Tim got to his feet and walked back across the beach, climbing the steps back to the house. When he got inside, he opened the cupboards and smiled as he pulled the cereal off the shelf. It wasn't much, but he was eating breakfast regularly. That was important. Habits and routine. They helped him.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

_Two weeks later..._

Gibbs went down to Autopsy and found Ducky sitting, giving (unneeded) advice to Jimmy as he prepped a body. He hadn't seen Jimmy look so happy in a long time...and Ducky seemed, if a bit frustrated at not having healed up just yet, quite happy himself.

"Mr. Palmer, if I've told you once, I've told you a hundred times..."

Jimmy muttered under his breath in perfect unison with Ducky's lecturing tone.

"It's not done if it's not done correctly."

Gibbs chuckled and Ducky turned around to see who had intruded.

"Ah, Jethro. What can we do for you? I'm afraid we're not quite ready to give you any preliminaries. Mr. Palmer is..."

"...getting the body ready, Agent Gibbs," Jimmy said quickly. "Dr. Hampton is coming in to do the autopsy, but she called to say she was stuck in traffic. I'm getting everything ready so that we can start right when she gets here."

"You have a minute?"

"Several most likely," Ducky replied. "Your office?"

As Ducky got to his feet, Gibbs was a bit worried by the careful movements. Even now, nearly four months after his injury, Ducky still seemed a bit frail. Jimmy was doing more and more of the work in Autopsy, and Gibbs was starting to wonder what would happen in the near future. Still, Ducky's knowing smile was unfeigned and undimmed by Collier's bullet.

"Yeah," Gibbs said without elaboration.

Ducky nodded and followed Gibbs out of Autopsy.

"He's a good lad. If it weren't for the snobs who require the official degree, Mr. Palmer could probably do the job himself."

"Snobs like yourself?" Gibbs asked.

"I have no question of his ability, Jethro!" Ducky said, slightly affronted. "Mr. Palmer simply needs a piece of paper certifying his readiness...but I myself am not worried about it. It will come. He had to take some time off when his mother became ill and that has put him behind schedule."

"And when he _does_ get his degree?"

Ducky was silent for a moment and then he looked up at Gibbs, seeming strangely small.

"I'm getting old, Jethro," Ducky said quietly. "My old body is not recovering from that injury as it should. At this point, I'm little more than a placeholder here, and we all know it, although we don't speak of it. I've stayed on in this place years beyond what I planned when I first joined NCIS. I will be eighty years old next year. I don't think that working until death is required...not even of a medical examiner." He chuckled.

"You ready to retire?"

"Yes," Ducky said without hesitation. "Oh, I would have chosen a better reason for it than physical weakness, but I am. I just need to stay on long enough for Mr. Palmer to become Dr. Palmer and so that...certain people don't make bad assumptions."

"Like...McGee?"

"Yes. Like Timothy...whom I'm assuming was your real object in coming down here."

Gibbs gestured for Ducky to step on ahead of him and then he stopped the elevator mid-rise. ...as usual.

"Yes. I came down about McGee."

"What is it? I've given you all faithful reports of his progress."

"I know. I want your...opinion."

"Personal or professional?" Ducky asked with a smile.

"Both if necessary."

"Very well. What's the question?"

"What if I showed up at that house?"

"Without asking permission?"

"Yeah. McGee would say no if I asked."

"Are you so sure of that, Jethro?" Ducky asked. "Do you think that Timothy would refuse to speak to you?"

"If he's not ready, or if he _thinks_ he's not ready. Yes."

Ducky sighed, seeming disappointed. "Going for shock is not always the best route."

"I know."

"But you think it is in this case? What will be the topic of your discussion?"

"That's...private."

"Very well. Given your insistence, I'd wager that you already intend on going and you simply want to know what kind of reaction Timothy may have to your presence."

Gibbs was silent, but he didn't disagree. Ducky knew him too well for that.

"Well...if Timothy is having a good day, he'll be shocked, probably momentarily speechless. Then, he'll invite you in and want to know what in the world you're doing. He won't believe that you've come to Maine just to speak with him. He won't understand why you're there and he'll have a hard time accepting that you care enough to show up there."

"And if he's having a bad day."

"He'll be shocked but will talk to cover up for it...and he will try to get you to leave as soon as he can. He'll stammer and push you away. Physically, if necessary. He doesn't have as many bad days as he used to, but they still come."

"I see."

"You're going, aren't you."

"Yeah. On the weekend."

"Jethro, I wish you would reconsider just dropping in. Even we, who have no negative associations for him, call in advance. Timothy has days when he simply wishes to be alone. Can you not give him that option?"

Gibbs was about to say that it would be better his way...but then, he thought about it and realized he was willing to run roughshod over Tim's choices. Had he learned nothing at all? ...and yet, he still felt that they needed to talk and that Tim would say no if given the choice.

"Warn him I'm coming...after I've left. Give him a chance to get ready for it. If he wants me to leave, he can tell me when I get there."

Ducky's eyebrows raised in surprise. Clearly, he wasn't ready for Gibbs being reasonable...which gave Gibbs a private thrill at having taken the nearly-omniscient doctor by surprise.

"That's...an improvement at least," he said grudgingly. "When are you leaving?"

"Tomorrow morning."

"You have the address?"

"Yeah."

"No one is coming with you?"

"Not this time."

Ducky sighed in capitulation...and nodded.

"Very well. Let me know when you've left. ...but if your little visit has any kind of adverse effects, you will answer to me...and weak shoulder or no, I will make you regret, Jethro. Understood?"

Gibbs smiled and nodded, but he took the warning seriously. He turned on the elevator and sent it back to Autopsy. Ducky got off just as Jordan Hampton came in from the stares.

"Was something wrong with the elevator, Don?" she asked. "I pushed the button a few times and it wouldn't move."

"Jethro and I were merely talking, Jordan. I apologize that we forced you to come down the stairs."

"It's no problem," she said with a grin. "I need the exercise. Where's the body?"

"Right through here," he said, gesturing with his left hand instead of his right. "Are we finished, Jethro?"

"Yeah."

"You go on ahead, my dear. I'll catch up."

"All right, but you can't critique my technique if you aren't there to watch."

Ducky laughed. "I'll be right along."

Jordan went into Autopsy and Ducky turned to Jethro.

"Not a word of what we spoke of before to Timothy. Understand? He's not ready to accept it yet. _I_ will tell him when the time comes. Not you."

"He won't hear it from me, Duck."

"Good. Now, I have an Autopsy to oversee. If you'll excuse me, Jethro."

Gibbs grinned and copied Ducky's earlier gesture. Ducky's smile was all he got in reply. After Ducky had left Gibbs alone in the hallway, Gibbs sighed. He'd been afraid that Ducky wouldn't really recover. The doctors had anticipated a full recovery, but it was a full recovery in the sense that there would be no pain and a good range of motion. Not the same state he was in before. Perhaps with extensive therapy, he might regain his full motion, but Gibbs could see Ducky wasn't willing to wait the estimated year to return to his duties, not when Jimmy was so close to finishing...and needing a full-time job.

But that was something he couldn't change. He shook off the regret and turned his thoughts to Tim...and a situation he could at least influence.

He was glad he had time to think about what he was going to say. This wasn't going to be an easy conversation.


	41. Chapter 41

**Chapter 41**

There was another storm. This one was a real doozy. Tim watched as the rain pounded against the windows. The ocean was stirred up in a frenzy of wind and water.

Before he knew it, Tim found himself heading outside into the gale. The rain pelted his face. The temperature had dropped like a stone when the storm had hit...and this wasn't going to be a quick one. It was going to last for quite some time. He was glad that the house was built up off the ground. Very little chance of flooding, even as water poured down from the higher areas, running down into the sea. There were small streams forming that would only last as long as the rain did. It was likely that a lot of the sand would get eroded in this one. He'd seen it happen before.

Tim fought his way down to the beach to watch the waves as they crashed onto the shore. It was amazing to watch them and he felt something inside him...almost as if he were stir crazy. He wanted to run right into those waves, just to feel the power of them, just to feel them crash over him and knock him to the ground.

He knew why he felt so wound up. Ducky's call had put him into a bit of a swivet. He hadn't refused Gibbs' visit, but he didn't know what he'd say when Gibbs got there. Why was it necessary? Would he really come? Tim couldn't imagine him making the trek up here just to talk to him. Besides, with the weather the way it was, it was unlikely that Gibbs could get a plane in here anyway. He was sure that the flights would be grounded.

...but that didn't matter. As he stood on the beach, almost blinded by the wind and rain, he let himself get carried away into the power of the storm. He walked forward. If there was one thing that he would _never_ be able to control, it was the weather. Why was it that he could accept that, could cede that power to something that really could kill him? ...but when it came to the people who he had once counted as friends, he couldn't even _think_ about them without feeling afraid...nervous...anxious?

The waves were lapping his feet. Why not? As long as he didn't do something stupid and go out too far, he could be in the waves. He could feel that...he could cede control of his life to the unfeeling waves. He ran out just as one of them crested and broke on the shore.

Tim felt the water knock him backward and he coughed as the saltwater got in his mouth...but he didn't back away. He fought to remain standing and blinked until he could watch as the waves pulled back and then lifted higher still. They crested and broke over him. This time, they knocked him down.

Tim fell to the ground, saltwater pouring over him, stinging his eyes, making him cough. He panicked...as he had known he would, and he struggled to stand up, but he was turned around and couldn't tell which was the way back to shore. His heart started to beat more rapidly and he cursed himself for being a total fool. He staggered in the direction he thought was toward land, not sea, but there was water everywhere around him. He couldn't see.

Suddenly, there was a viselike hand on his arm, dragging him backward, away from the direction he had thought was the shore. He fought against that hand. In his panic, he tried to shout for help. It was Jewel! She was trying to...

"McGee! What are you doing?"

The voice was familiar. Still, Tim struggled to get away.

"Cut it out!"

The voice broke through Tim's blind panic. _Gibbs!_

He stopped fighting and in moments was gasping for breath, still in the pouring rain, now utterly and completely soaked. ...and embarrassed. He found the courage to raise his head and stare at Gibbs, but he couldn't think of a single thing to say.

"What were you doing out there, McGee?"

Still, no words would come and, to his surprise, Gibbs didn't press the issue. He took hold of Tim's arm again (more gently this time) and led him toward the house. Tim let him. He was still trying to wrap his head around Gibbs being there...and Gibbs having pulled him from the water.

When they got inside, Tim shivered, cold now, where he hadn't even noticed the temperature before.

"I'm assuming there's a shower in this place?" Gibbs asked.

"Y-Yeah," Tim said, still gasping a little. "More than one...a-actually."

"Good. Where?"

"T-Two upstairs and...and one...d-d-down here."

"Okay. Show me where the one down here is."

Tim pointed with a shaking hand.

"D-D-Down the hall...on the left."

Gibbs walked over to where he'd apparently deposited a bag on the floor just inside the door. He hefted it and headed in the direction Tim indicated.

"You going to make it upstairs?"

Tim nodded, still shivering. "Y-Yeah."

"Okay. Just come on back down when you're ready."

Tim started toward the stairs but he stopped. "H-How did you g-g-get here?"

"On a plane," Gibbs said.

"But...the...the s-s-s-storm!"

"We were the last flight to land before they closed the airport."

"Oh."

"Go on. We can talk later."

Tim nodded again and went up to the bathroom he'd claimed as his own. Quickly, he got some dry clothes and then went in and turned on the water. As soon as it was warm, he got under the spray and sighed with relief as his body began to regain some of its internal temperature.

But as he warmed up, as his mind fully engaged with the world around him, he wasn't sure that he really wanted Gibbs to be in this house. He wasn't sure he was ready to talk. ...but Gibbs had made the effort to come up here.

_Why? Why spend the money? Why waste the time? Why would he want to be here at all?_

There were no answers to the questions floating around in his head. Tim eventually turned off the water and got dressed as quick as he could.

Not quick enough, though. As he opened the bathroom door, the smell of coffee assailed him. He went downstairs and into the kitchen. He was dressed in sweats, a t-shirt and a larger button-up shirt that he was wearing as a jacket. If Gibbs was coming, he wasn't going to get Tim to dress up for him. ...but Gibbs was only dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt himself. Still, Tim felt awkward. He stood in the doorway for a few seconds and then cleared his throat.

Gibbs didn't turn around.

"Figured you wouldn't mind if I made some coffee. Thought we both might need it."

"Thanks," Tim said softly and forced himself to walk into the kitchen.

"Mugs?"

"Cabinet on your left. Middle shelf."

Gibbs poured a couple of mugs of coffee and then finally turned around. He slid one mug across to Tim who picked it up and sipped at it. This wasn't the coffee he had here. This was really _good_ coffee. The kind of coffee he himself had used to buy...in the days before his life had fallen apart.

"Thanks, B–" he said...and for the first time in...who knew how long, he almost called Gibbs _Boss_...but he resisted. Gibbs mostly definitely was _not_ his boss and hadn't been in nearly two years.

"You mind telling me what you were doing out there, McGee?"

Tim looked down at the counter. "Just...enjoying the storm."

"By drowning yourself?"

"I wasn't trying to...I just...wanted to..." Tim tripped over his words as he tried to explain something that really wasn't explainable.

"What?"

"I can't control the weather," he said quietly.

"Yeah? And?"

"And it helps to remind myself of that."

"Why?"

"Because I can't control people either. ...I can't control you...or anyone else." Tim laughed a little...still staring at the counter. "I can barely control myself anymore."

"You seem to be doing a pretty good job of it."

"Yeah. Real good job," Tim scoffed. He shook his head at the ridiculous lie.

"You seem better than you were."

"You mean better than when I threatened to kill you, or better than when I took ecstasy and nearly killed myself, or better than when I broke down in interrogation simply because you showed me my gun, or better than when I–?" Tim stopped as the memory of that night when he had totally lost his mind. Ducky still had no idea just how close Tim had come to simply killing himself that night, how near he had come. If he'd still had a gun, he probably would have done it just because it would have been fast.

"Better. I wasn't really comparing."

"Good for you," Tim mumbled.

"McGee..."

"Why are you here...G-Gibbs?"

"To talk to you."

"Why?"

"Why did you leave?"

"I needed to."

"Why?"

"Because...I couldn't stay in DC anymore unless I wanted to keep wearing myself down."

"In what way?"

Tim raised his eyes tentatively. Gibbs was standing across the counter, just looking at him with interest and a bit of concern. Nothing else.

"I used DC to punish myself. I could have stayed with Matt and Judith. They didn't mind. They kept telling me I should. I could have gone and stayed with my parents for a while. They suggested that I do it. I could have simply left and got a job somewhere else. I stayed...because I knew I'd be miserable."

"Why?"

Tim thought about prevaricating but rejected the idea. What did he have to lose really? He'd already lost everything.

"Because I was in a place where I'd been happy but lost everything that had made my life good. I was confronted every day with the knowledge that a girl who had started out as a happy-go-lucky teen died by my hand. I was forced to remember the things I had done to her, the things she had done to me...and I had to accept that I had fallen so far as to be a member of the human race only by genetics and nothing else. I dealt with that every single day. I beat myself up about it every single day. I lived like that on purpose, knowing that I deserved every single moment of misery because I'd done it all to myself...and the things I'd done to other people deserved retribution." He took a breath. "That's why I had to leave. I don't have that here...or at least not as much. Jewel's not so loud in my head. I don't dream about her every night."

"But you still do?"

"Yeah. Sometimes. She's...still there." Tim picked up the mug and took a drink. Then, he looked at Gibbs. "Why are you here?"

"To talk to you."

"About what?"

"How long are you going to stay here?"

Tim shrugged. "I don't know. Matt said it's mine for as long as I want it, but I know I'm going to have to leave eventually."

"And?"

"And what?"

"When you leave, what are you going to do?"

"I don't know. I'll have to think of something...but right now, I'm just focusing on living in the present instead of the past. That's hard enough."

"Yeah."

Tim looked up at that. He supposed Gibbs would know how that felt.

"Did you really come up here just to ask me how I'm doing? You could have done that any other way."

"No, I couldn't. I had to talk to you."

"But why?" Tim asked. "There's no reason. Not really."

"That's why."

"What?"

"To show you that there _is_ a reason."

"What reason is that?"

"Because we care, McGee...and I know that you may not believe it, but it's true. We've all screwed up quite a bit, but we do care...in our own clumsy ways."

"And?"

"And what about NCIS?"

"What _about_ it?"

"Why not go back?"

Tim laughed. He couldn't think of anything else to do. It was so ridiculous that the only reaction was laughter.

"What's so funny?" Gibbs asked.

Tim looked at Gibbs incredulously. "Go back? To NCIS? Are you crazy? Who would want me back there? No one in their right mind would want me back at NCIS. I had a complete mental breakdown. I acted like an idiot. I quit my job. I nearly killed myself and I've been living in squalor for over a year. ...oh, and I was in the looney bin. Twice. Once for five months and once for two weeks. Did you know that? Did you know that I had another breakdown, Gibbs? Who wants to have a person like me associated with them? I'm a nut and screw-up." Tim laughed again and put down his mug. He started to leave the kitchen.

"I knew that," Gibbs said quietly.

"Knew what?" Tim asked, pausing for the moment. "That I'm a nut?"

"No. I knew that you'd gone back to the psychiatric hospital. Ducky told me."

Tim spun around. "What? Why? Why would Ducky do that?"

"To help me see how serious your situation was. I needed to know that. McGee...what happened to you isn't some sort of shameful brand you have to wear for the rest of your life."

"Oh, really? Tell that to the fifteen companies who refused to hire me because of what I'd done," Tim said. The injustice of it rankled even as he knew he'd brought it on himself.

"It's still not," Gibbs said.

Tim found himself walking back to the counter. He picked up the mug of coffee and took a large swallow. It burned his throat, but it gave him something to do as he tried to ignore the suggestion Gibbs had made.

"You haven't answered my question, Gibbs. Who would want me back?"

"Vance. Abby. Ducky. Jimmy. ...me. Tony. Ziva."

"Don't...lie about this, Gibbs!" Tim said, desperately. "Don't pretend! There's no _reason_ to pretend anymore! Protecting me from Collier was one thing. You _had_ to do that. Don't lie and say that you want me back!"

"I'm not," Gibbs said seriously. "I mean it. Now, I don't blame you if you don't want to work with us again, but I'm not lying. Are you going to pretend that you don't care about NCIS anymore? Are you going to pretend that if the job was available you wouldn't want to take it?"

"I couldn't do that."

"I didn't say that. I said you'd _want_ to. Are you going to deny that?"

Tim wanted to. He really did. He wanted to block out what Gibbs was trying to say to him...but he couldn't. The words were in his head now.

"No...I can't...pretend," he whispered. "But why even think about it? It's not possible."

"Why not?"

"Because...there's...too much that's happened."

Gibbs walked around the counter and grabbed Tim by the arms.

"If you don't want to go back to NCIS, McGee, that's fine. I won't push it...but if you do...I can't let you avoid it because you'll only be punishing yourself more. And didn't you just say that you were trying not to do that to yourself anymore?"

"I can't...think about that, Gibbs. I can't. Not now. I can't."

Gibbs unexpectedly let him go.

"All right."

"It's late, Gibbs. I'm tired," Tim said. He knew he was just avoiding the conversation, but he had to. It was too much to deal with right now. "You can stay here. There are spare rooms. No reason you should fight the storm to get to town."

"Okay."

Tim pointed down the hall. "There's a spare room down there...or there are two free bedrooms upstairs."

"Okay."

It was on Tim's lips to ask why Gibbs was being so agreeable, but he didn't. He just took his coffee mug to the sink.

"Thanks for the coffee," he said.

"You're welcome."

"Good night."

Gibbs walked down the hall and Tim went upstairs. He took off the big shirt and then got into bed. He _was_ tired and fell asleep quickly.


	42. Chapter 42

**Chapter 42**

Gibbs went to sleep quickly and hoped that Tim had done the same. He was disturbed by what Tim had said, but more by how he'd looked. He'd been afraid...terrified of even _considering_ doing something like go back to NCIS...not because he didn't want it but because he might not get it or he might be betrayed again. Gibbs wasn't sure _exactly_ what was holding Tim back, but he could see very clearly that it wasn't a lack of desire.

He rolled over and spared one moment to admire the quality of this "spare room". Then, he fell asleep.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"No...No... It can't be... please...no!"

The moaning and shouting woke Gibbs up and he was confused for a moment about where he was.

"No!"

It was Tim. He was in Maine. Right. Gibbs got up quickly and dashed up the stairs. He followed the sound of Tim's shouting to the room where he slept. It was still raining, and he opened the door to find quite an amazing master bedroom. A full wall of nothing but windows looking out on the beach. Windows currently rattling a little bit from the wind, and difficult to see through because of the rain. Still...an amazing room.

The king-sized bed in the middle of the room was full of thrashing limbs. Tim had got tangled up in the blankets and was panicking in his sleep.

"McGee, wake up," Gibbs said, standing over the struggling figure.

"I don't...want..."

Gibbs shook Tim gently. "Wake up, Tim."

He pulled the blankets off and Tim sat up, his eyes opening wide in terror. He breathed quickly and finally woke up. For a few seconds he looked at Gibbs and then he dropped his head and started crying.

"Nightmare?" Gibbs asked.

"Y-Yeah."

"What was in it?"

"Same old...same old." Tim took a deep breath and wiped at his eyes. He wouldn't lift his head.

"What?"

"Bad. I look in a mirror...and Jewel is...my reflection. She lifts a gun and starts shooting. The mirror cracks and starts bleeding. ...and then, I'm shooting...people...and I can't stop."

"You're not a killer, McGee."

"And yet people die around me. I killed Jewel myself. All those people who died from the ecstasy. Lance Corporal Smythe. Ducky _could_ have been killed."

"You're _not_ a killer, Tim," Gibbs said again.

To his surprise, Tim actually smiled a little.

"Sometimes...I remember that, but not at night. Not at times like this...not when I remember Jewel."

Gibbs remained silent for a moment, thinking that Tim would say more.

He wasn't disappointed.

"That's why what you're telling me is ridiculous. I'm...maybe a little better than I was, but I'm not better."

"You think you can't get any better?"

"I don't know, but I'm sure not ready...and even if, by some miracle, you're right about everyone, that doesn't mean I'm qualified." He looked up. "I'm not qualified, Gibbs. I'm a colossal failure. You know that as well as I do."

"No, I don't."

Tim just shook his head. "It's stupid. The whole idea. It's stupid."

"You were a good agent, Tim. You had years of good work."

"And then I lost all that."

"It doesn't have to be permanent."

"Says you."

"Yes. Says me."

Gibbs watched as Tim looked away, out at the storm. Suddenly, he was struck by a thought and he let it out before he even had time to think much about it.

"How do you feel compared to that night in your friend's house?"

Tim's eyes moved back to him and his face scrunched up in confusion.

"What night?"

"The night I invaded your space and you threatened to kill me," Gibbs said seriously.

Tim winced at the description.

"Remember?" Gibbs asked.

"Yeah. I remember. I hated you. ...almost as much as I hated myself."

The past tense made Gibbs happier than he thought it would.

"I didn't want you to leave," Tim whispered.

"What?"

"That night. There was a part of me that didn't want you to leave."

"Could have fooled me."

Tim smiled. "I fooled you all into thinking that I was doing my job well. Doesn't take much to use anger I really felt to hide how desperate I was. ...but there was a part of me...the part that has always known what reality is. That part wanted you to stay, wanted you to break me out of that. ...but you left."

Gibbs opened his mouth to speak, but Tim overrode him.

"I don't blame you. Not now. You said it was past the time when you could help me. Maybe you were right, but...in a completely irrational way, I felt even more betrayed by the fact that you left me there. I knew I was coming apart at the seams."

"And now?"

"What do you mean?"

"How do you feel now?"

"Tired. Sad. Occasionally-hopeless...occasionally-hopeful. Afraid."

"Afraid of what?"

"Myself...the person I am. I don't like who I've become, Gibbs. That's why I came up here. I needed some time alone to confront my demons...to figure myself out."

"And what have you figured out?"

"That I'm still a stupid wuss. I could have killed myself on the beach if you hadn't come. My nightmares still wake me up in the night. The only difference is that, usually, I can get back to sleep after I have them. ...and I'm not letting my fear keep me from trying to sleep. Dr. Lewis prescribed some sleeping pills, but I try not to use them. I keep hoping that someday Jewel won't be in my head anymore."

"As long as you keep blaming yourself for her death, McGee, she's not going away."

"Who else can I blame, Gibbs?" Tim asked, almost plaintively...but with an edge of irritation. "I'm the one who shot her!"

"Because she refused to back down," Gibbs said firmly. "Because she was determined to kill no matter what happened later. Julia Westin is to blame for her death, not you. You were doing your job. ...and I remember what you told me before, but your feelings, while you can regret that you'd been brought to that state, don't change the fact that Julia Westin basically killed herself."

"She was a straight-A student in school."

"And _she_ chose to throw it away."

"She used to dance."

"But decided that she didn't want that world anymore."

"Like me."

Then, it clicked. Gibbs had been seeing bits of it already, but he understood. The more Tim had learned about Julia Westin, the more he had identified with her. She was someone who, like Thomas Allen McKay...and like Tim himself had done, had decided that she was rejecting the world she'd grown up in. The world that required following laws...the world that valued life for the sake of life. And she was essentially what Tim was seeing as a mirror of himself. Someone who'd had it all and intentionally thrown it all away. Her death at his hand was probably what he subconsciously (or even consciously) felt he deserved. Death for his crimes.

"You are not Jewel, Tim," Gibbs said seriously. "You never were...and you're not now."

"That's easy to say now, Gibbs," Tim said. "You have a lot of reasons for wanting that to be true."

"What reasons would those be?"

"It makes it easier for you. It's a way to assuage any guilt you might feel. It means that you can push the reset button. ...but it's not possible for me. No matter what you might think, I'm not in any state to be a federal agent. Not now. Maybe not ever...but definitely not now. I'm barely holding it together...which is better than I was before, but it's nowhere near what I'd need to be to be an agent."

Gibbs wanted to push. He wanted Tim to listen to him, to believe him as he'd done so automatically before. ...but he started to see that there was no convincing him tonight. Maybe he couldn't convince him at all. ...and he had no right to tell Tim what was right for him. He'd lost that right. And, in reality, he'd _never_ had that right. So he took a breath and looked at Tim.

"You going back to sleep tonight?"

"I'm going to try. Bad things happen when I refuse to sleep."

"Would it be easier if I was here or in my room...or in town?"

Tim's eyes moved away from him, traveled around the room and then resettled on him. It was clear that Tim was surprised by the question.

"I'm serious," Gibbs said.

"If...you're serious..."

"I am."

Tim almost smiled. "...then...it's easier for me to sleep when I'm not alone."

"Even if I'm the one keeping you company."

Tim did smile. "When my eyes are closed, I can't see who is there. I just know that _someone_ is...and that makes a difference."

"Why?"

"For the same reason little kids can go to sleep when their parents are sitting next to them. The same reason Sarah used to like to sleep with me sitting by her. The presence of another person keeps the monsters away...no matter _who_ it is."

"Okay. I'll stay."

Without another word, Gibbs closed the door to the hallway, cutting off the light. Now, the only source of any illumination was from outside...the occasional flashes of lightning, accompanied by rumbling thunder.

Tim lay down and pulled something out from under the blankets.

"What's that?"

He couldn't see Tim's face any longer, but he could hear the embarrassed smile.

"A teddy bear."

"What?"

"Dr. Lewis said that if it helps, I should use it and not let anyone tease me about it. It helps."

Gibbs chuckled softly.

"All right. Good night, McGee."

"Good night."

Tim rolled over so that he was no longer facing Gibbs. There was a period of silence, perhaps ten minutes.

"Gibbs?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you honestly think that I have a snowball's chance of working for NCIS again?"

Gibbs thought about telling him what Jamie had said, but he decided against it. In his current state, Tim might take that as an obligation he had to fulfill...which wouldn't be any better than what he'd believed before.

"Yes. If you want to."

There was no response. If Tim had planned on saying anything else, he lost the chance. After about half an hour, his deep breathing signaled his return to sleep. As he sat there in the darkness, Gibbs thought about everything he'd seen and heard here. He had to agree with Tim, even though it galled him to admit it. As he was now, Tim wasn't ready to go back to NCIS, not in a high-stress occupation. Not even Vance could get around the psych evaluations that Tim would surely fail. However, there was a lot that also told him that Tim had the potential to return should that be his desire. He wasn't cringing at the prospect of using Gibbs' name. He wasn't backing down. ...and that anger he'd become so used to seeing in Tim's eyes was gone. ...or rather, it had lessened dramatically. The hatred he directed at himself wasn't as strong even if it was still there to some extent. He was incredibly self-aware...as far as his weaknesses went. Tim himself had said that nights were the worst times for him. He hadn't been lying.

He considered going back to bed. Tim was asleep and would hopefully stay that way. ...but as he began to rise, he remembered what Tim had said. His feelings of betrayal when Gibbs had left him at Matt's house, left him to sink deeper into the mire of his toxic hatred.

Gibbs settled back in the chair. It was really quite comfortable. Not as comfortable as a bed, but quite good enough to sleep in. He looked at Tim's back as a flash of lightning briefly lit up the room. He smiled and made himself comfortable.

Would this help? Maybe. Maybe not, but Gibbs himself was much better at _doing_ things than he was at talking about them.

Sleeping in the chair to help Tim get a good night of sleep seemed a small price to pay.

In spite of the continuing storm, Gibbs soon fell asleep.


	43. Chapter 43

**Chapter 43**

Tim woke up rather suddenly, not sure what had roused him...only that it hadn't been another nightmare. He sat up in bed and looked around...and his eyes fell on Gibbs, sleeping in the chair by the bed. For a moment, he was shocked at Gibbs' presence and almost woke him up just to get him away. But then, a rueful smile crossed his face. He hadn't meant that Gibbs needed to stay beside him for the whole night. It was rare that he was _ever_ that desperate. The rain still fell, but the wind wasn't so fierce. He sat there, watching the storm for a while, glad he was warm and dry and safe indoors. It wasn't too long ago that this neverending storm would have been illustrative of who he'd been and how he'd felt about everything. It was hard to explain that things were different but still not great. Maybe he'd never be able to do that. Where were the words required for it?

Still, it was nice to awaken without feeling terror, anger or self-loathing.

Carefully, he slid out of bed and out of the room, leaving Gibbs slumbering peacefully. Once out of the room, he headed to the kitchen. He opened the fridge and cupboards, pulling out enough stuff to cook breakfast for the both of them. He didn't know whether or not Gibbs actually did something so normal as to _eat_ something for breakfast, but Tim himself needed it.

...but coffee would be a part of it...of course.

Before he started cooking, Tim spared a moment and looked out. The rain was lessening. He couldn't see the beach very well, but he was sure it was probably in quite a bit of disarray after all the rain. He could go out and see later...when the rain stopped...but still, he stared for a while. The weather intrigued him now, more than it ever had when he was younger. Sure, he'd had some interest in extreme events like hurricanes and tornadoes, but now, it was more that he was amazed at how much power nature had...and how little power mankind had to fight against it.

Then, Tim shook himself and turned his attention back on his breakfast. He had no idea what Gibbs would want, but he was going to make omelets. If Gibbs wanted something else, he could make it himself. Ever since Judith's stern dictum, Tim had actually made an effort to eat things that would help him gain weight...without just gorging on junk. Tim smiled as he began to assemble the omelets. He'd become fairly proficient at this because it was easy to add more or less to them to make them more or less exciting. That meant that, every time he had them, they could be slightly different. No ruts...at least not in his breakfast choices.

As the omelets were cooking on the griddle, Tim heard movement from upstairs and smiled to himself. No doubt Gibbs would be wondering how in the world Tim had managed to sneak out without waking him up. Actually, it gave Tim a little thrill to know he'd managed it. Silly perhaps, but it did.

Thumping down the stairs and Gibbs came into the kitchen just slightly faster than could be counted as nonchalant...but to his credit, he said nothing about whatever concern he might have felt.

"Good morning," Tim said.

"When did you get up?" Gibbs asked.

"About half an hour ago."

"I didn't hear you."

Tim smiled. "Obviously. I'm almost finished making breakfast."

"I could smell the coffee."

"It's not as good as what you brought. I have money right now, but I don't want to waste it on luxuries. I don't know how long it'll have to last me." Awkward pause. "The...storm's getting lighter. Not so much wind."

Gibbs looked out the window and nodded. ...and then, said nothing as Tim poured him some coffee. Tim didn't know what to say now. He didn't know if _Gibbs_ had something else to say either. All he knew was that this was really _really_ awkward.

"Uh...how long are you staying, Gibbs?" he asked.

"Flight goes back tonight."

"You came here for a day?"

"Yep."

"Why?"

"Needed to. We already talked about that."

"Yes...but...Gibbs, I..."

"Your eggs are burning."

Tim spun around and quickly removed the omelets off the griddle. He put them on plates and gave one to Gibbs, wondering if he'd accept it.

He did without comment. They ate in silence. Tim had no idea what Gibbs was thinking, but he himself was just wondering if Gibbs was really telling the truth.

"You can't be serious, Gibbs," Tim said when he'd mostly finished.

"About what?"

"About coming up here."

"I'm here, aren't I?"

"Yes, but it doesn't make sense."

"Yes, it does," Gibbs said. He put down his fork. "You may not _want_ it to make sense, but it does."

"Then, tell me."

"Again?"

"Yes." Tim couldn't quite admit it out loud, but he needed to hear this from Gibbs again. Would he really say the same thing he had before? Was it possible?

Gibbs looked at him for a few seconds and then nodded.

"All right. I came because I wanted to make sure you were all right, and I needed to talk to you...about coming back to NCIS."

Tim felt his stomach clench at the mention of returning to NCIS. The idea tempted him and terrified him. He deliberately picked up his plate and Gibbs' plate as well and carried them to the sink, since that would necessitate his turning away.

"Do you want it, Tim?"

Tim's hand shook and he almost dropped the plate. Quickly, he set it down and looked out at the rain.

"You need to answer."

Tim stiffened slightly. "I don't have to answer that question," he said.

"Yes, you do...not because it's me asking it, but because _you_ need to figure out what you're going to do with yourself."

"I have time."

"Yeah...but how much? How long can you live in limbo like this? How long before it starts to drag you down again?"

"I need the time."

"Fine. How much? You've already been here for a couple of months...and I came here and found you drowning yourself."

"I wasn't! I just...got disoriented is all."

"Because you walked into the ocean in the middle of a storm."

"I know what I did," Tim said, feeling irritated. He turned around. "I know it wasn't the smartest thing I could have done. I just...needed to."

"Why?"

"I told you...because I can't control it."

"And you'd rather risk the weather that could kill you with no chance of it caring about your life or death than you would talking to people who actually do care?"

"Yes!"

"Why?"

"Because..." Tim hesitated. Wouldn't this just break the tenuous truce he and Gibbs seemed to have reached? Wouldn't the truth make things worse? He sighed. "...because...being around you and...and Tony...and...Ziva...that scares me a lot more than maybe drowning in the ocean does."

Gibbs' eyes widened slightly. He may have even seemed a little hurt if that were actually possible. But Tim pressed on now that he'd begun.

"...and I know that's wrong. I do! ...but I can't help it! I keep thinking that if I can make myself believe that you really do care, that you're not out to get me...if I can get that into my head so that I believe it...maybe I have a chance!"

Gibbs was silent for a few seconds, and Tim faced the sink again. In the lull, he began washing the dishes. Gibbs said nothing. Tim resolutely kept washing. Then, he turned off the water and dried them...still not talking, still not turning around. Unfortunately, it didn't take very long. It was only a couple of minutes and Tim had no convenient excuse to avoid facing Gibbs.

"What do you want, Tim?"

Tim clenched the dishtowel tightly in his hands and took a deep breath.

"What, Tim?"

"Ducky told me what T-Tony said...about finding the stuff I typed. He must have told you."

"Not details."

"I wish things could go back to how they were...but they can't."

"That's not what I'm suggesting."

"Then, what?"

"Just going back to NCIS in whatever capacity you think you could handle."

Tim shook his head.

"McGee, turn around."

Tim shook his head again.

"Turn around," Gibbs said again.

Tim took a deep breath and slowly turned around.

"Do you want to go back to NCIS?"

"I can't answer that."

"Why? I'm not going to hold you to it. I'm not going to tell Vance. I'm not going to fill out any forms for you."

"Because...I can't."

"Yes, you can. Yes or no. Do you want to go back?"

"Not if I can't be what I was. I can't go back and be less than I was before."

"Less meaning–?"

"Not a field agent. Don't you understand, Gibbs? That's the job I wanted...not Cybercrimes. Not Legal. Not Intel...not MTAC. None of that. I just can't do it. ...and I'm not ready to be a field agent again. I'm not...and if you try to tell me that I am, you're lying, either to me or to yourself."

"And staying here will help you get more ready?"

"Yes. It's better up here for me. I'm remembering who I am...a little bit. I woke up this morning...and it wasn't because of a nightmare. Gibbs, you have no idea how rare that's been for me. I can be...pretty low at night, but night is always going to be the worst time for me."

"You need to let of Jewel."

"I know...but I can't yet."

"Why not?"

Tim laughed. "Because, unlike you apparently are, I can't just let go. It's taking time, Gibbs. I just have to take the time...and I'm doing that now. Can't you just accept that you can't force me to heal? Leroy Jethro Gibbs can't always rearrange the world to fit what he wants."

To Tim's surprise, Gibbs actually seemed a little ashamed. ...but his surprise was nothing compared to the shock he felt at Gibbs' next words.

"I'm sorry, Tim."

"You are?"

Gibbs smiled. "Yeah. I told myself I wasn't going to push you to do anything, but I'm doing just that."

Tim smiled in reply.

"No matter what, if you want back at NCIS, you can. All you have to do is say the word."

"I'm not ready for it."

"Yet?"

"Yet."

"Okay. How would you feel if Tony and Ziva came up here?"

"They need to ask first...like you should have."

Gibbs nodded in acceptance of the comment. "All right. I think they can manage that."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Gibbs only stayed for a couple of hours and then he went on his way. By the time he left, the rain had mostly stopped. It was still gray and overcast, but the major storm had passed. Tim watched him leave and then returned to the house. However, he only stayed for a couple of minutes...before going out to the beach again. There were rivulets, rocks, and branches strewn across the sand. The waves were still wild. No one in their right mind would be out on the ocean today.

Instead of going out into the water as he had the day before, Tim sat down on the wet sand and watched the sea come in and out.

Back and forth. Back and forth. Uncontrolled, but with a rhythm dictated by the world around it. Tides from the moon and sun. Winds from passing storm systems. Even so, there was still a rhythm. The sea was uncontrolled, but it possessed a pattern. It couldn't always be predicted completely, but the tides were pretty well understood by the people who chose to study them or live with them.

"Do I really want to go back?" he asked aloud.

The waves didn't answer him, of course, and after a while, Tim grew cold and went back into the house.


	44. Chapter 44

**Chapter 44**

Tim remained at the house for another three months, never venturing farther from it than the nearest town to replenish his supplies. Twice, Tony and Ziva came to visit him...ostensibly in order to bring Ducky with them. The visits were...short...and thankfully so. They were all very awkward with each other, but Tim tried to appreciate the effort. Unlike Gibbs, Tony and Ziva didn't stay at the house. Tim had offered, but they had insisted on staying in town instead. They came over and hung out for a few hours, but they could all feel the tension. The first time they came, Tim was sure that it would be the only time...and it was almost a relief. ...but three weeks later, they had come again...again with Ducky in tow, and adding Abby and Jimmy to their number. Ducky, Jimmy and Abby stayed with Tim at the house, but Tony and Ziva still stayed in town.

In addition to those awkward visits, Matt and Judith came a few times and his parents came twice, Sarah once. Those visits weren't awkward, but still they had their own brand of tension...and Tim was almost glad when they were gone, too.

It was the questions everyone wanted to ask but none of them did. ...well, none of them besides Gibbs. How long would he be staying here? What was he going to do after? Where was he going to go? How was he going to live? They were all good questions. Important questions. ...and questions Tim didn't feel prepared to answer just yet...which was why the visits were awkward.

The times he was alone, Tim usually spent long hours on the beach, just watching the waves. He had got to the point that, even without checking on the tides, he could tell the high and low tides.

Like now. It would be high tide soon. He'd sat as the sun went down and watched as the waves crept further and further up the sand. His beach didn't face west, but there were high clouds that had taken on bright colors with the setting sun. The waves rolled in and up the beach; when the water reached its farthest extent, it just barely reached his toes. Tim smiled as the water covered his toes and then receded. He could see the places where he sat when the tide was low.

"Predictable," he said aloud. "Am I uncontrolled and yet predictable?"

He laughed to himself and then stood up. A breeze ruffled his hair and he closed his eyes, feeling the wind on his face. It was so nice here. Tim wished that he could just stay here for the rest of his life. It was so calm. It was so easy. Even in the midst of terrible storms, he felt more at ease here than he did anywhere else. Of course, it helped that he was alone. People caused him a lot more grief than the elements did. He wanted to stay, but deep inside, he knew he couldn't. It wasn't that he would be forced to leave. Matt would let him stay here for eternity if he wanted to...and he did.

...but he didn't. This wasn't really living. This was...as Gibbs had said...a state of limbo. He wasn't really living right now. He was existing, trying to prepare himself to live again.

_...like Jewel never will..._

The thought, instantaneous as it was, gave him a pang of grief and guilt. Even now, when he knew who and what Julia Westin had been, even now, he regretted that he had been forced to kill her. ...and he could still feel that part of himself that believed he deserved to be punished for killing her, for all those things he had done while undercover.

He could still feel that part of himself that hated his own existence, that part that felt the only thing Tim McGee deserved was death and an eternity of suffering.

That part was wrong. He could almost think that and believe it now, but it took some doing.

Maybe it was time to start living. Maybe that would break this impasse. Maybe that would finally banish Jewel from his mind.

As soon as the thought came into his mind, he shivered, and not from the cold night air.

"I'm sorry I had to kill you, Jewel," Tim whispered. "...and more than that, I'm sorry that I felt glad when you were dead, no matter how briefly that emotion ruled me. I'm sorry that I used you to get what I wanted. I'm sorry that I let you use me." He took a deep breath. "I have to let you go. I have to. I've carried you with me. I've let the memory of you poison me until I really did almost die. I have to let that go. You would never have thought of me for this long."

The waves rolled in and then out. The wind continued to blow.

"I've let you take the place of the bullies who ruled my life long after I escaped from them. I let them poison me until I was ready to turn my back on the whole human race. I've let you do the same until I was ready to let myself die and I can't."

Saying the words wouldn't make her go away, not instantly...but Tim felt there was some good just in saying them aloud...even if no one was there to hear them. They were words for himself, not for anyone else.

"I won't let them win," Tim said.

One more inhalation as the wind blew. Then, he turned around and went back into the house.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

_Three weeks later..._

There was a knock on the door and Ducky stood up, a bit slowly, yes, but not with a lack of speed which bespoke frailty. Just age...and a bit of injury. He was still struggling to regain all the movement in his arm, something he had kept from Tim during every visit to Maine. That struggle was exacerbated by the simple fact that he didn't heal quickly anymore. The bullet that had injured his shoulder had also sapped much of his excess energy, but he thought he'd been successful in hiding it from Tim. However, the time was swiftly approaching when that would no longer be possible. Jimmy would be finishing all the requirements in the next few months. He hadn't said anything. No one had, but Ducky was ready to nip it in the bud and tell Jimmy that he would be the M.E. before too long, that is if _he_ had anything to say about it.

Ducky was acting merely in a supervisory capacity at this point. Jimmy did the autopsies with only occasional input from Ducky. The complicated cases resulted in a visit from Jordan Hampton, still with most of the work being undertaken by Jimmy himself. Ducky smiled at the thought of Jordan. She always managed to brighten his day, no matter how much younger she was than he. So the work was being done by Jimmy, soon to be Dr. Palmer, and a visiting M.E. All Ducky did was put his signature to the various forms. It was galling in a way, but at the same time, it was simply the natural progression of life. He could be grateful that he was retiring with all his faculties intact...and most of his physical ability as well.

How would Tim react to this? He would _know_ that it was due to the injury Ducky had suffered. Would he still take all that blame on himself? That was the question...and Ducky didn't know the answer to it. Tim seemed to be doing better every time he had seen him, but he was still not fully recovered...and injuries to the psyche were so much harder to heal than injuries to the body.

The knock at the door was repeated and Ducky smiled to himself at his own distraction. Quickly, he reached the door and opened it.

...and then almost fell backwards in surprise.

"Timothy!"

Tim was standing awkwardly on his front porch, scuffing the heel of a well-worn shoe against the cement.

"Hi, Ducky."

"What...are you doing here?"

"Visiting? ...if you don't mind?"

Ducky laughed. "Of course not, lad! Come in! Come in!"

Tim smiled and stepped inside.

"I didn't know you were coming back."

"It's probably hypocritical of me to insist that people call first to visit me but I just show up on your doorstep without a word. I...didn't tell anyone."

"Whyever not?" Ducky took Tim by the arm and directed him toward the kitchen. "Sit down. Have you eaten? Of course, you haven't. You never do if you're not thinking about it. I don't have much on hand right now, but you can have some tea. Just let me get it going."

"Ducky, it's okay. You don't have to get me anything," Tim said.

Ducky paused in his preparations and looked Tim in the eye. "I know I don't _have_ to. You wouldn't ask it of me, and perhaps it's not necessary in terms of your physical needs. ...but trust me, Timothy. I _do_ need to."

Tim held his gaze and nodded. "Okay."

Ducky smiled. "Good. Once the tea is ready, you can answer my questions."

Tim was silent for a few moments, but when the pot signaled that the water was ready, he stood up and walked over beside Ducky.

"I'll get it."

"It's not necessary," Ducky said.

"Are you sure?" Tim asked, his voice indicating a more serious question than it might otherwise be.

Ducky smiled sadly. "I'd hoped to keep this from you for a little longer, Timothy."

"If you'd stayed away after the first couple of months, you'd probably have succeeded," Tim said. "I've been totally self-absorbed, but even I noticed by the end."

"Not self-absorbed."

Tim laughed without humor. "No, Ducky. There may have been good reasons for it, but let's call it what it is: self-absorption."

"But you noticed?"

"Finally. Yeah. How bad is it?"

Ducky forced a cheery smile in an effort to lighten the mood. "Not bad enough that I can't carry a laden tea tray."

Tim didn't smile.

"Timothy, sit down. I'll bring the tea over."

Tim didn't look happy about it, but he did as Ducky asked. Ducky picked up the tray and carried it to the table. Then, without speaking, he poured for both of them. He knew Tim was watching for any sign of the weakness he'd somehow noticed. The problem was that in small things like this, there _was_ no sign. It was a cumulative effect, not any one moment. Finally, he handed Tim the cup.

"How bad, Ducky?" Tim asked.

"Bad enough that full recovery, if it really does occur, will be a very long time coming."

"So...what does that mean?"

"It means that I will retire as soon as Mr. Palmer becomes Dr. Palmer and can take over. He has done so in all but name already. He does the work. I supervise and sign the forms. It has been this way since I returned to work."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

Ducky chuckled. "Because it occurred to me that you would likely have difficulty accepting it. Am I wrong?"

"No. You're not...but Ducky..."

"No, Timothy," Ducky interrupted sternly. "I will not allow you to take this onto yourself. We have already discussed it. You did not pull that trigger. You didn't shoot me. You certainly did not wish this injury on me. In fact, I know that you would have put yourself in my place if you could have done so. But you can't do that, and you can't change what has happened. You can't make me younger and more able to heal. Timothy, I'm old!" Ducky smiled as he said. "No, I'm nowhere near dying as yet, but I'm plenty far over the hill. I have no difficulty admitting that. I'm retiring and I don't mind. I've already made arrangements to be a consultant when my official tenure is complete."

Tim was still distressed...but Ducky now was unsure if it was due to guilt or just to the realization that things were changing...and not being able to control that change could be a difficulty for him.

"Timothy?"

"I'm sorry, Ducky."

Ducky sighed...but Tim wasn't done. He stared at his teacup.

"I'm sorry that you're so worried about me that you felt you to...hide the truth from me. You've done so much for me...and I couldn't do anything to repay you."

"It's not necessary."

"Maybe not...but..."

"No, Timothy. It's not necessary. Can you not see that I'm fine? I'm not steady enough with a scalpel to pursue my former vocation. I'm feeling my age. But I am healthy. I am more than able to take care of myself." Ducky reached out and lifted Tim's face. "You bear no responsibility for my well-being. I'm not ready to be taken care of just yet."

Tim managed a smile which shook for a moment before he took a long swallow of tea, terribly impolite, but Ducky didn't mention it.

"Things...they can't go back to how they were."

"No, Timothy. They can't. Do you still _want_ them to?"

"Not really...but I wish I could go back to before all this and have it never happen. I wish I could say to Director Vance that I didn't feel capable of doing that undercover assignment. I don't have the temperament for it. I wish I had known that." Tim's eyes shifted to the window. "So much wasted time. So much wasted life."

"Delayed, perhaps, but wasted? No. Timothy, you paid a heavy price for that assignment, but much good came from it as well. Lives were lost...almost including your own, but the most important lessons we learn in life are often learned in the most difficult of circumstances. Would it have been easier had you not gone through it? Definitely. Would it have been _better_? That's more difficult to ascertain. Certainly, it's easy to say that it would have been, but can you really say with certainty that your former colleagues would have been better in that position? Did any of them have the requisite computer skills that allowed you to do so much?"

"They wouldn't have fallen apart like I did."

"More than likely not," Ducky agreed. "That doesn't mean they would have been a better choice."

"Personally...I think I disagree," Tim mumbled.

"Personally...I don't blame you."

Tim took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

"Now, tell me why you didn't let anyone know you were leaving your sanctuary."

Tim's eyes moved back to Ducky.

"Because I wasn't sure I'd make it all the way here. Every time the bus stopped, I was ready to hop off and catch one going back north."

"You rode the bus all the way down here?"

"Yeah. It was really cheap. Took a while, but I made it."

"And what brought about this sudden trip?"

"It wasn't sudden. Not for me. I've been thinking about this for a while. Almost two weeks."

"And?"

"And I'm terrified."

Ducky was surprised. He tried to parse Tim's meaning. Clearly, it was about more than just leaving Maine.

"What was your purpose in coming, Timothy?"

"I...I have an...appointment with...with Director Vance. Tomorrow morning."

"What?" Ducky was completely flabbergasted. He hadn't even _considered_ this development.

"I want to see what it would take for me...to work at NCIS again." Tim took a quick breath. "I'm not ready to...not yet...but I...I just want to know if I should even be thinking about it. Gibbs seems to think that I could without any trouble...but it can't be that simple. I don't think it's possible that it could be."

"Is this truly what you want, Timothy?"

A half-smile graced Tim's lips. "Sort of."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning that...I do want this...if I can be what I was before. I can't accept less. I just can't."

"What would be less, Timothy?"

"Not being a field agent. I'm willing to work back up to that, but I have to know if it's possible...if they'd be willing to take me back with how screwed up I've been...how screwed up I still am. I have to know because I can't try again if there's no chance."

"What if the director feels it's not a possibility?"

"Then...I'll probably leave DC...for good. I don't know if I'd end up here anyway, but I couldn't stay here...not knowing what I'd lost...how badly I'd failed."

"Failed?" Ducky asked.

"Failed to recover. I've sunk so low, Ducky. I'm just barely crawling out of the...the scummy depths." He laughed a little at the metaphor. "I'm just barely letting myself after nearly two years of...not just staying down there but trying to dig a deeper hole. Knowing that I'd failed...I couldn't stay at the site of my failure." Tim sighed. "Nothing I've ever done in the rest of my life has made me as happy as NCIS has. Nothing. I've never wanted anything else as much. If I have to find something else to do...it's going to be...somewhere else, doing something else. Anything else."

Gains and losses, Ducky decided. That's how Tim seemed to be going. He had made some very significant gains in his time away, but still, there was that threat of toppling back down into the...scummy depths, as he had called it. And yet, he had a desire to _achieve_ something. It wasn't just about survival, but about something he did seem to want. That was significant. There was also an awareness of his own precarious position, mentally speaking.

"Director Vance has already agreed to speak with you?"

"Yes."

"That's a positive sign in and of itself, you know," Ducky said...and then realized, quite suddenly, that he himself wanted Tim back at NCIS, not just with the agency but back in DC. ...because he'd miss Tim if he left. It was a selfish desire to keep him around...but Ducky was old enough to acknowledge that there was a portion of selfishness...so long as he didn't allow that to take precedence over what would be best for Tim.

"Maybe. I hope...maybe it is."

Ducky smiled. "Well, do you have plans for where you'll be staying while you're in town?"

"I was hoping I could stay here," Tim said.

"Of course!" Ducky said without any thought at all.

He was rewarded with a genuine smile.

"Thanks. I'm going to call Matt. He'll lecture me about coming down here without calling first. He'll probably invite us up there for dinner. You game?"

"If you think he'll invite me as well."

"He will," Tim said. "That's the kind of guy he is. He wouldn't dream of inviting one person but not another in a house. It would seem...wrong to him."

Ducky chuckled. "Then, if that is the case, you may accept on my behalf as well."

"All right." The smile faded. "Ducky...I'm really scared about doing this. What if Director Vance _does_ say that there's no chance I can come back?"

"Then, you will have to accept his decision and move on with your life. Timothy, there's nothing else that you _could_ do in that event."

The unspoken words hung in the air during the pause that came after. Ducky knew that they both remembered all too well that night when Tim had broken down and truly was ready to die. Yes, there _was_ something else...but neither of them would even mention the possibility...but they both knew it existed.

"I'll go...call Matt."

"Very well."

Tim stood and left the kitchen and Ducky leaned back in his chair. Better? Yes, Tim was better. Healed? No. There was still a long road ahead of him for that...and only time would tell if Tim had the endurance to continue on down that road.


	45. Chapter 45

**A/N:** This is the final chapter in this story, but there will be a third part (when I get around to figuring it out). Please let me know if any of you would like to read the third part as I write it (as I've done with this story). If you'd rather wait until I finish it and post the whole thing, you don't have to say anything since that's my normal process. Otherwise, I hope you enjoy this chapter. :)

* * *

**Chapter 45**

After a lovely, unstressful dinner with Matt and Judith (Chris performing his usual antics), Tim and Ducky returned to Ducky's home and Tim headed for the guest room...not to sleep, but to call Dr. Lewis. He'd already talked to him about the meeting with Vance and he had been encouraging. That night, however, Tim didn't sleep well. He tossed and turned for a few hours before giving up. Quietly, he got out of bed and crept to Ducky's study.

It was dark in the house, but Tim had been here enough that he knew his way without turning any lights on. When he got in, he closed the door and turned on a lamp beside the chair where Ducky did most of his reading. To his surprise, there was a book sitting on the table, with a sticky note bearing Tim's name. He picked up the book, half-expecting it to be some sort of inspiring novel.

...but when he pulled off the note and revealed the title, he was startled into laughter.

"_A Morbid Taste for Bones_?" Tim read aloud. He turned over to the back and discovered that it was a story about a twelfth-century monk...who apparently solved murders. Intrigued, Tim sat down in the chair and began to read, at the same time, wondering why Ducky had recommended this book of all the choices he had.

Still, it wasn't very long and, as he read, Tim found himself getting absorbed by the plot. He just kept reading and reading...not even noticing that he was getting tired.

...and he didn't even notice when he suddenly slipped from barely awake to dead asleep, the half-finished book slipping from his hands onto the floor.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Timothy."

The voice intruded on his peaceful oblivion.

"Timothy, it's morning. If you would like to ride with me to NCIS, you will need to get up."

Tim forced his mind back to consciousness and respectfully requested that his eyes open. They did.

"Ducky?" he yawned.

"Whom did you expect, lad?" Ducky asked with amusement.

"I'm surprised I fell asleep in the chair. I expected to be up all night."

"I was rather suspecting that myself. I was pleasantly surprised to find you sleeping."

Tim straightened. He had a crick in his neck and his back from sleeping in the chair, but he'd slept which was definitely a good thing.

"I was, too. I don't know when I fell asleep, but I didn't finish the book."

"Excellent."

"Why did you set that one out for me?"

"Because I thought it would be a worthy diversion. You needed to get your mind off upcoming events. I quite enjoy these novels."

"There are more of them?"

"Oh, yes. Twenty-four in all. Every one worth reading if you have the time. Ellis Peters does a marvelous job at situating Brother Cadfael in the twelfth century in a turbulent time. Now, you should get ready."

Tim felt his stomach twist at the reminder of his upcoming appointment. It must have showed on his face because Ducky's smile became encouraging.

"Remember, lad. There are no enemies here. No one wants you to fail."

"Right." Tim took a deep breath and got up. He couldn't put it off by doing nothing.

He got ready as quickly as he could and breakfast was a rather simple affair. Ducky seemed to understand that Tim wouldn't tolerate anything complicated. Then, Tim was off to NCIS for the first time in months to face the ultimate in a situation over which he had very little control.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"You will be fine, Timothy. ...but you may feel free to come down to Autopsy afterward and tell me how things went."

Tim managed a weak smile at Ducky's encouragement. Then, he took a deep breath and headed for the elevator. He waved at Ducky and then got on. It was strange how familiar this place felt...and yet he hadn't really been here for a long time...and the last time he had been, it had been because someone was trying to kill him. To come here for something which was, on the surface, rather mundane seemed very strange.

When he got off the elevator, however, an even stranger sight greeted him. He looked down over the bullpen. Tony and Ziva were sitting at their desks, working quietly. ...and where he had formerly been, sat Jamie Davidson, his replacement. She was very obviously pregnant, but she, too, was working. Seeing the NCIS world working, clicking over without the emotional roller coaster he had brought to it...in a way, it made him sad. Tim almost lost his resolve. In fact, he did lose his resolve. He turned around and walked back toward the elevator...only to halt in his tracks when it opened, revealing Vance himself.

"Ah, Mr. McGee, I'm glad you're here a bit early. You never know what might come up and it's best to get these things done before the crises begin."

Tim opened his mouth to agree, but his courage had utterly failed him and he just stood there, knowing that he most likely had a deer-in-the-headlights look on his face. Vance's expression changed very slightly and he smiled.

"Come right this way, Mr. McGee."

Tim nodded mutely and spared a glance down at the bullpen. Tony and Ziva had both stopped working and were staring up at him in surprise. He moved his eyes back forward. He didn't need to be wondering what those two were thinking right now. He had enough to worry about...like if he would be able to get over his fear and actually speak with Vance or if he'd just sit there in a shocked stupor until he fled from the office and then hid himself away from humanity for the rest of his life.

Still, he followed Vance nimbly enough and got into his office.

"Have a seat, McGee," Vance said, gesturing at the table.

Tim sat down with an audible thud...and he could have sworn he heard Vance suppress a chuckle, but he didn't dare turn around to look. ...and it was only belatedly that he noticed Vance had dropped the formal address he'd used out on the balcony.

"Ms. Long, please make sure there are no interruptions unless absolutely necessary."

"_Understood, Director."_

"Thank you."

Tim still didn't turn around. He just sat staring at the wall, waiting for Vance to come and sit down in his line of sight. Finally, he did. Vance sat down and stared at him, clearing evaluating him. That finally goaded him into at least _attempting_ to speak.

"Th-Thank you for meeting with me, D-Director Vance," he said and then mentally kicked himself for letting himself slip back into his stammering.

"My pleasure, McGee, although I had hoped to hear from you a lot earlier than this."

"I...I was...in Maine."

Vance smiled. "No. More like two years ago."

"Two years?"

"Yes. However, since that didn't happen, what can I do for you now?"

"Uh..." Tim was now beginning to wonder.

"Tim...completely private here. No one else will hear about this unless _you_ see fit to tell them. I have no authority over you any longer. _You_ requested this meeting. It's up to you. Have you reconsidered?"

"No!" Tim said. It popped out of his mouth so quickly and so vehemently that even _he_ was surprised.

Vance smiled again. "All right. Then, what is it?"

"What...What I wanted...to know..." Tim took a breath and tried not to get frustrated at his own hesitation. "...was..." Another breath and he let it all out in a rush. "...whether or not it would ever be even remotely possible for me to be a field agent again."

Vance sat back, and Tim wondered just what the director was thinking. He couldn't read Vance's expression at all. He struggled to be patient and wait for an answer. He knew that Vance _would_ answer. He just had no clue what that answer would actually be.

"This is something you really want, McGee?"

"Yes."

"Okay. Before I answer your question, I need to ask _you_ some questions."

"Okay."

"First, do you think you're ready to come back to work?"

"Right now?"

"Yes."

"No. It's probably pretty obvious that I'm not."

No reaction. Not for or against.

"Okay. Next, would you be willing to go through the entire hiring process?"

"Yes."

"Including FLETC?"

"Yes."

"And what about the kind of work that led to your resignation in the first place?"

"Sir?"

"Undercover work, McGee."

Tim took a deep breath and tried to answer with calm and clarity. "I'm not suited for it, Director Vance. Maybe it was just the particular situation and the error I made at the beginning, but I'm not. I think I could handle and perhaps even excel at short-term operations, but it takes a better person than I am to handle being deep undercover like that."

"Perhaps." That was all Vance said in reply.

"Would that ruin my chances, sir?"

"Why do you want to come back?"

"What?"

"It's a simple question, McGee, although perhaps not with a simple answer. Why is it, after everything you reported in your account, after your violent reaction to your teammates, why is it that you want to come back to NCIS and be a field agent?"

Tim debated about what he should tell Vance about this. But what did he have to lose, really? He had no job. He had no requirements on him now except for when the case finally came to trial. Nothing else. Nothing to lose.

"Because...it's all I've ever wanted...and it's all I still want. I want to be an agent again...if it's possible. If it's not...I can't work for NCIS again. It would be too hard to remember what I threw away before."

Vance merely nodded in acceptance. He looked at Tim for a few minutes. Tim forced himself to sit calmly while he waited for an answer.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"What's McGee doing here?" Tony asked Ziva in a low voice. He wasn't sure where Gibbs was, but he was supposed to be finishing a report and Gibbs wouldn't take it amiss to dole out the head slaps. Only Jamie was currently exempt. Pregnancy apparently equaled immunity to Gibbs' usual method of encouragement.

"Meeting with Director Vance, apparently," Ziva said, pretending she was still working.

"But why? You think he's coming back?"

Ziva looked at Tony pointedly and then over at Jamie.

"I can hear you, you know," she said without looking up...but with a faint smile on her lips. "You can talk about it. I don't mind...as long as you don't require me to get up and run around because that's getting difficult."

"Do you?" Tony asked again.

"If so, I do not think it will be to work with _us_. I have not forgotten how awkward our visits were."

"Yeah...well, we can't really blame that on him. We weren't helping."

_Thwack!_

"And you're not helping now, DiNozzo. I should have your report on my desk by now. You, too, David."

"Yes, Boss!"

"Almost finished, Gibbs!"

"Good. Finish it, then."

Tony glanced up at Gibbs for a moment and caught Gibbs' look up toward Vance's office. So Gibbs was curious as well. Did that mean he knew or that he _didn't_ know?

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Finally, after what seemed to be an eternity, Vance nodded.

"Yes, McGee, I think it's possible. In fact, I think it's more than possible." Before Tim could get too excited, he continued with a stern expression on his face. "_However_, I cannot, in good conscience, guarantee it. In order to come back and work here again, after so long an absence, and considering what happened during the course of your absence, you will have to reapply and go through all the steps to return. You will need to pass a psych evaluation, interviews, and all the other facets of the process. In addition, you will need to graduate from FLETC again. Now, _that_ particular obstacle will have to be tailored to your particular situation, given that you've done a lot of the theoretical work before and I doubt that you've forgotten any of it, even if you haven't been using it lately. However, all the practical aspects will have to be done, including recertifying with firearms. While I might be able to pull strings to avoid those hoops, I won't because it won't do _you_ any good and it won't serve NCIS. So, if you don't feel ready to be an agent right now, do _not_ apply. Get yourself straightened out to the extent you feel is necessary and then apply. If you pass muster, I, for one, will be happy to have you back."

The words washed over him, and Tim heard them all...and filed them away for later perusal, but the only sentence that really penetrated at first was Vance saying that he'd be happy to have him back. The sentiment shocked him.

"Are you sure, sir?"

"Am I sure of what?"

"Th-That you'd be happy to have me back? After everything I did wrong? After the crap I pulled when I left? You'd actually _want_ me to come back?"

"Tim, I don't say these things lightly, and I don't say them without meaning them. Yes, if you meet all the requirements to become an agent again, NCIS would be fortunate to have you."

"I...I...don't know...what to say...sir."

"You don't have to say anything at all. You understand that I can't make any guarantees about where you'd end up, what you'd be doing, anything like that."

"I know. I don't care."

Vance smiled and stood up. Tim followed suit.

"Tim, it may have come a lot later than I expected it to, but I'm glad you've decided to make the effort." His smile faded. "...and I'm very sorry that you left in the first place. A lot of things went wrong that shouldn't have. I stand by my decision that you were the best choice, but like I told you before, if taking my second choice would have meant you stayed at NCIS, I would have done it." He stuck out his hand. "I apologize."

Tim shook the proferred hand without hesitation. "It's...It's not your fault, sir. I...I was more screwed up than I knew I was. If it weren't for Ducky..."

"Yes, I'm aware of your connection to him. He's kept me apprised of your situation."

Before Tim could register his shock at the idea that Vance had kept tabs on him during his absence, the phone rang. Vance released Tim's hand and strode to his desk.

"Yes?" He listened while Tim's mind reeled. "I understand. Tell them I'll be ready in two minutes." He hung up. "I have an urgent meeting in MTAC; so I'm afraid our time is up. I hope to see your name on the roster, Tim. Good luck."

Vance didn't give Tim any time to come up with an answer. He almost physically propelled him out the door.

"I know you're supposed to have an escort, but feel free to go down to Autopsy where I'm certain Dr. Mallard is anxiously waiting for a report."

Tim managed to smile, and then stood still as Vance left him behind to head quickly to MTAC. He took a breath, almost unable to believe that it had all happened. Then, he looked down at the bullpen and saw Tony and Ziva looking up at him. Taking what seemed to be a bigger risk than making the appointment with Vance, Tim gave a small smile and a slight wave at them before walking to the elevator. He sent it down to Autopsy and walked in.

"We'll be with you in a moment, Jethro," Ducky said, airily, not even looking back over his shoulder. "Mr. Palmer has just discovered something fascinating."

Tim stared for a moment...slightly saddened by the fact that Ducky was simply peering over the corpse. The scalpel was in Jimmy's hand instead. He couldn't begrudge Jimmy the chance at this...but still...

Then, Jimmy looked up and grinned. "Hey, Tim!"

Instantly, whatever had been so fascinating was forgotten. Ducky turned around.

"And?" he asked with unabashed curiosity.

Tim smiled. "Director Vance says that...that I'll need to go through the whole process, but he thinks that there's a possibility that I could become an agent again."

"That's wonderful, lad. So...what now?"

"Now...I guess I get ready."

Ducky grinned and nodded. "Good. Now, would you like to see this? It is quite interesting, I must say. This man was born with situs inversus, or a reversal of the internal organs. That, in and of itself is quite rare, but he also had, not one, but _two_ cervical ribs! Fascinating!"

Tim came forward with some reluctance. He'd never particularly enjoyed staring at the exposed insides of dead bodies...but as he came near to the table, Ducky continued his monologue with Jimmy's silent, tolerant smile...and squeezed Tim's hand in encouragement with a distinct twinkle in his eye.

Tim couldn't help but smile back.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

_Two days later..._

Dr. Lewis smiled as Tim came into his office.

"It's been quite a while since we met in person, Tim. You're looking much better."

Tim smiled. "Thanks."

"So...what's on tap for today?"

Tim sat down and looked at Dr. Lewis with nothing less than sheer determination. ...something that Dr. Lewis didn't think he'd ever seen in this particular patient before.

"Tell me what I have to do get back to...back to normal. I'm going back to NCIS, and I need to pass the psych evaluation when I apply."

"And you're ready to tackle that now?"

Tim nodded. "Yes. What do I have to do?"

Dr. Lewis smiled widely. This was what he'd been hoping Tim would ask.

"You've done a lot of it just by being here, Tim. Now, we'll get to the rest of it."

FINIS!


End file.
